


Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point

by FivePips



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, M/M, Pen Pals, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FivePips/pseuds/FivePips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John stops a man from beating up Sherlock in an alley the night before he is about to go off to Sandhurst. Somehow they become pen pals and best mates...but of course there's something that neither of the two men could have predicted.</p><p>"The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of" -Blaise Pascal</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> and thank you to my lovely beta [Iriya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Iriya/pseuds/Iriya)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real word count to this story is closer to 38,000.

**August 28** **th** **, 1998**  
  
John lit his cigarette, possibly one of his last because as soon as where he was to leave for Sandhurst in the morning he was going to quit. _Can't be a doctor and smoke_ , he thought. He crossed the street near the pub he where was meeting his mates to get properly pissed before going away for God knows how long. John looked down an alley as he heard some noise to see a kid getting punched in the ribs by some bald bloke who looked as if he was built like a large primate.

"Oi, mate, what's this about?" John has a terrible time keeping his mouth shut when someone is in harms way.

"Keep walking." The man leered at John, moving away from the tall, lanky punching bag.

"Just wanted to make sure everything was ok, mate." He stayed at the edge of the alley.

"This arse said my bird is cheating on me after checking her out." He walked into John's personal space.

"Because she is." The lanky kid coughed, he was leaning with his hands on his knees.

"I'm not wasting anymore time with this." The bald man snapped then pushed John out of the way.

John made sure the man was out of sight before walking over to the kid choking. "You ok? Shouldn't be picking on blokes larger than you." He put his hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Fine, yes."

"Let me check to see if you have any broken ribs." He moved his hands down a bit.

The kid stood up, finally looking at John. Well, he wasn't a kid, maybe a few years younger than John himself so probably about 19 or 20. He was tall and thin with a dark mop of curly hair on top of his head. His eyes were an unearthly blue and his skin was so pale and flawless. He had the most amazing cheekbones. His lips were pouty and pink, perfect. He was gorgeous. "You're going to be an excellent doctor."

"Huh?"

"That's what doctor's do, check the injured." He studied John. "You're late to see your mates. I'm fine, you can go."

"How'd you know I'm going to be a doctor and that I'm on my way to see my mates?" He stepped on his cigarette.

"By how you're reacting to my potential injures. You're not _really_ a doctor yet because you're too young, 22? Well you don't really consider yourself one yet, at least. But you graduated Medical School. Residency... no ... ah, army."

"Yes." John was baffled.

"You're late to see your mates because you're not dressed for a date and there's a pub right down the street. You're not an alcoholic and don't drink alone so you're going to meet your mates. You're late because it's 9:13 and no one meets people at 9:15 when they go out for a social function. You could be early for 9:30 but it's doubtful."

John's mouth hung open.

"You're going to quit smoking too. Probably assume it's wrong for a doctor to smoke."

"How'd-"

"That was just a guess. You were holding on to it for dear life and didn't put it out when the bloke who I had a small row with came into your space." He smiled and took out a pack of cigarettes, "Here, for saving me from a few more punches and possibly a broken rib or nose."

"Ah, cheers."

"I still don't get it, though."

"What?"

"Why'd you stop?"

"I was concerned about some kid getting beat up. How'd you know that stuff about me?" John lit the stranger's cigarette with his lighter then his own.

"Simple observations."

John watched him take his first drag, it was oddly erotic, "I wouldn't have guessed."

"I didn't guess. Well, I did about a couple of facts but they were educated guesses. I took in whatever I could see, processed, and deduced." He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"Well, that's amazing."

"You think so?" The kid smiled crookedly.

"Of course it was… do you know my name?"

"No, I haven't seen your wallet."

"John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock leaned against the brick wall and smoke billowed out of his mouth.

"Why was that arse beating you up?"

"You heard him, I told him about his girlfriend. I deduced it like I deduced those little facts about you."

"You randomly tell people about what you observe about them on the street?" John cocked an eyebrow.

"No, he asked why I was staring at his girlfriend. I simply told him that she was cheating on him and I tried to tell him how I knew but he wasn't interested."

"Where'd she go?"

"She ran off when he confronted me into the restaurant across the street."

John nodded. _Who the hell is this Sherlock Holmes_?

"I'll be going now. It was a pleasure."

John didn't want the encounter to end. He was completely taken by the kid with a posh accent and amazing eyes, who was potentially extremely brilliant or just mad. "Would you like to join me and my mates?"

"No, thanks," he said quickly, like he didn't even think about it.

"Oh, ok."

Sherlock looked as if he thought about moving but he just stayed against the wall, "Why'd you ask?"

"You're… interesting."

"Most people hate me and I don't do well in most social situations."

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Why's that?"

"I've been told I'm a bit rude." He gave a smug smile as if he was proud of the fact.

"My mates are rude too." John laughed.

"I'm probably a different rude, not crude like your mates."

"I think you owe me a drink." John stood up a bit straighter. He wasn't going to let this get away from him. Plus it could be his last good shag for some time.

"What?"

"For saving you from that broken nose." _It'd be a shame to ruin such a gorgeous face_.

"I gave you a cigarette."

"I want a drink, come on then. You can tell me all about my mates then with your impeccable observation skills, yeah?" John started to inch away.

Sherlock scoffed and threw his head back as he moved away from the wall. "It's not some party trick."

"It's interesting, I want to see you do it some more."

"Your mates will get mad or you'll get mad."

"I won't be angry." John looked up at the sky. "Don't do it on my mates, do it on other people in the pub."

"No."

"What's it going to take to get you to come for a bloody drink?" John was completely surprised with himself as the words tumbled from his mouth.

Instead of running away Sherlock grinned. "Ok, just don't expect me to make small talk."

John led Sherlock to the pub where his mates were waiting. Sherlock didn't speak much and when he did he had a sharp tongue or it was just personally to John who liked it, the sharp tongue and all. John's mates weren't big fans of the random _freak_ that he had picked up from the street for a pint. They questioned John endlessly when Sherlock went off to the loo about why he would ruin his last night in London with him.

When Sherlock made an excuse to leave, John did as well.

"Why are you following me?" Sherlock studied John as they turned the corner. "Your flat's the other way."

John got nervous for a second.

"The way you came to the pub, down the alley."

"Oh, right. But I wanted to know if you would want to grab a cup of coffee."

"Just ask me if I want to have sex with you."

John's cheeks flushed, "Would you?"

Sherlock looked down the street as a cab passed by, "Yeah," He smirked.  
  
"Right then, where's your flat?"

"Let's go to yours. It's closer."

John started walking down the street and Sherlock caught up quickly, "You are at least 18?" Sherlock did look young so John figured he should ask.

"Yes, of course, I'm 19."

"Just... making sure." He laughed nervously.

"You normally don't take strangers back to your place for a shag." It wasn't a question, like most things out of Sherlock's mouth this evening.

"No."

"Treating yourself to a _Bon Voyage_ gift are we?"

"Would you mind?"

"I'm following you back to your flat, what do you believe?"

John chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Do you normally follow strangers back to their flats?"

"Well I've deduced a lot about you tonight so I don't think you're really a stranger to me. But no, I do not go about sleeping with random people all the time."

"If you do, it's-fine."

"I do not so…"

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about it? Kills-"

"The mood? Yeah, a bit."

"Sorry."

"No worries." Sherlock looked at John like he wanted to kiss him right in the middle of the street.

John was practically buzzing with anticipation when they got back to his flat, which was all packed up and put away in nice, neat boxes to go to storage the next day. "Do you still have a bed?"

"Yes." John moved down the hallway, "Down here."

As soon as he moved through the door Sherlock was pinning him against the wall and crushing their mouths together. The kisses were rough and demanding, like Sherlock couldn't get enough of John's mouth. He broke away for a second to pull off John's worn-out shirt then he licked and bit at the other man's shoulder. John moved his hands up to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, accidently popping off one of the buttons. They both giggled as it skittered across the floor.

"Sorry." John pushed Sherlock back on to his small bed after discarding his shirt.

"It's fine, I'll buy a new one." Sherlock undid his belt as John followed suit to take his own trousers off.

When John climbed on top of Sherlock and started to kiss him again, he remembered that he was missing something. "Bugger." He mumbled against Sherlock's lips.

"Mmmhmm?" Sherlock sucked at John's neck, he was going to leave a mark.

"I don't have any condoms."

"Well, there are things we can do without them, right?" Sherlock licked his hand then moved it between the two of their bodies.

"Rig-ohhh, yeah, right." John moaned as Sherlock wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. "God damnit you are beautiful," He moved his hips, looking down at the body beneath him.

Sherlock gave him a crooked smile and arched his back up like he was trying to get even more friction. They moved against each other, sweat forming a thin layer on their skin. John knew he made a fantastic choice to invite the smart stranger to the pub for a pint as the hand on his cock squeezed a bit tighter.

It didn't take very long for either of them to come, "I should have given you a blowjob for a Bon Voyage gift." Sherlock panted.

"That... that was fine. Thank you."

Sherlock let out a soft noise when John kissed his cheek.

"I'll be right back, let me grab something to clean up with." John went to the bathroom and came back to clean them both up before joining Sherlock back in bed.

Sherlock turned on his side, resting against the wall. John lied on his back next to him and lit another cigarette then offered one to Sherlock. They were quiet for a few minutes while they enjoyed the endings of their post-orgasm highs.

"John, why do you want to be in the army?"

"Couldn't you figure that out on your own?" He gave him a toothy smile.

"Possibly, yes."

"Almost every man in my family, aside from my father, was in the service."

"You want to see action, too. You're a bit of an adrenaline junkie. You love action. You'll always be able to help people, especially your fellow countrymen."

John just laughed because he didn't have anything to say about it.

"I don't understand why you would want to join it, though. Well, I would never join it. I should have phrased that differently." Sherlock reached over John for the ashtray.

"Why's that?" John scrunched his face.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my country but I would hate to listen to so many orders and I could never handle the routine when you're not on a mission. I'd be deathly bored."

"Do you get bored a lot?"

"All the time, the world is boring."

"The world's exciting. Come on now, you're only 19, don't be cynical. Maybe you should stop deducing everyone." John gave him a hard look.

"I'm not cynical." Sherlock shook his head. "My mind… it's... it works a different way than everyone else's."

"How's that?"

"It's like a computer."

John thought for a second because he thought all brains were computers of some sort.

"I use it differently than the rest of the world, I _use_ it like a computer."

"You file stuff away? Delete things?"

"Yes."

"That's cool but I don't see how it makes you think that the world is boring."

Sherlock just shrugged.

"You should travel, see the world," John encouraged the somewhat younger man next to him. "Maybe it will change your view."

"Why are you so sure my world view is wrong?" Sherlock bit.

"Because the world is interesting and exciting. There's so much out there that you haven't experienced yet. I haven't either."

"That's stupid."

"What?"

"Not you, that idea."

_Who the hell is this kid?_

"I've read many books and done research on other cultures, I don't need to experience things to understand their basic beliefs, ideas, etcetera."

John groaned. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this kid but he couldn't stop. "Don't you want to meet new people?"

"Not particularly, not in the way in which you're saying." Sherlock paused, waiting for John to continue in his questioning but he didn't. "I like to collect data on new people."

"Christ, you are a computer."

"Yes, call me a freak if you'd like." He put out his cigarette and John did the same. Sherlock seemed to be ready to put his defences up.

"You're not a freak. You're brilliant. You're just different and that's fine. You're a bit naïve for thinking that you don't need to travel the world to discover things though. Imagine the data that you could collect from travelling." John sat up against the headboard.

"Mmm, you have some point." Sherlock looked as if he was processing the information, all the while holding back a smile.

"So, where does this brilliant brain go to U\uni?" John reached up into the mess of hair. He decided it was a good time to change the subject.

"I'll be second year at Cambridge, studying chemistry."

 _Of course, Cambridge._ "So, you're going to be a scientist?"

Sherlock groaned, "I don't know."

"Well, you do have time to figure it out." John traced his finger down to Sherlock's chest.

"I have a hard time seeing myself in a job that I have to show up to everyday and deal with an idiot boss and have endless amounts of paperwork."

"Yeah, well make your own career. What do you want to do?"

"I enjoy solving puzzles."

"Hmm…" John thought, the only thing he could come up with was Sherlock being a detective but he would have to answer to people and do endless amounts of paperwork.

Silence settled over them and John drifted off to sleep with thoughts of what the daily life of Sherlock was like in his head. This bloke was something else. Clearly posh and bored with the world but brilliant and someone who could possibly do anything he pleased. John was a bit sad that he was shipping off in the morning because he would love to learn more about Sherlock.

When John woke up he found a note on his bedside table:


	2. Letters Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word count on this chapter is really 2,042

**September 4** **th** **, 1998**  
  
John stared at his notepad, wondering if it was odd for him to write Sherlock so soon…or at all even. Was it just a one-night stand? Maybe they could be friends or even boyfriends. They were clearly interested in one another. But John would need more than one night to figure that out. So he should write a letter. Not like he could go out for a cuppa with Sherlock any time he pleased to get to know him better. So the letter it was. John wrote 4 drafts before settling on one that felt somewhat appropriate.  


  


**November 1** **st** **, 1998.**

John spent almost a month worrying over the short letter he had penned to Sherlock… well, when he wasn't busy in basic training. He hoped it wasn't too forward with asking him to get together. Maybe Sherlock was just being kind when he gave him the address and number. Maybe he gave him the wrong address and number because Sherlock didn't seem like the type to be kind. But if he weren't kind he wouldn't have even left a message that morning.

John was about to give up on his hopes of a note in a few days when he retrieved his mail, thinking it was something from his mum. It wasn't. Scrolling handwriting indicated it was from Sherlock Holmes. John couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Which was just stupid because he only knew this bloke for a few hours in the night. But Christ, he was intriguing and amazing and beautiful. John only hoped Sherlock wanted to get to know him better as well. It could possibly have been a simple letter of rejection, _Sorry John, I'm not interested in pints or writing. You're dull and boring. –Sherlock Holmes._

Except it wasn't.

 

  
  
  
  


 

 **November 10** **th** **, 1998.**

 

**November 20** **th** **, 1998.**  
  


**December 1** **st** **, 1998.**  
  
  


**December 10** **th** **, 1998.**

 


	3. Coffee Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John meet for coffee.

**December 23** **rd** **, 1998**

John hated that he had to wait two days before being able to see Sherlock. He was exhausted when he got home on the 21st and slept as soon as he arrived to town. Then the next day his parents wouldn't let him do anything without them because they missed him _so much_. He called Sherlock that afternoon, though to set up a time to meet at a coffee shop in Central London. John was anxious that night, hoping Sherlock was as gorgeous and interesting as he remembered and as his letters kept him intrigued.

John was 15 minutes early to the coffee shop. He sat in the corner by a large picture window, looking at the door so there was no way he would miss Sherlock. Sherlock was ten minutes late, gliding in the door like he was on the runway. _How's it possible to look like a supermodel and still be so smart?_

"Hope you weren't waiting too long." Sherlock pushed his unruly black curls from his forehead.

"No, not long." _Only_ _25 minutes_. John felt stupid. Like a fifteen-year-old again. Sherlock seemed cool and relaxed, like nothing could bother him - ever.

"Shall we start from your last letter?" Sherlock fished a piece of paper from his coat pocket. "It's only right for me to answer you back."

"If you want. Do you want coffee? Tea?"

"Not right now." He smiled from across the small oval table.

"So, what's the first thing you have to respond to, let me see?" John snatched the paper from Sherlock. "Your brother, how old is he?"

"26, how old is Harry?"

"24. What's your brother do?"

"He's working for the government, not sure what. Probably MI5."

John gaped, "Really?"

Sherlock groaned, "Mycroft is a power-hungry arse. He's dreadful, you'd hate him. What about Harry?"

"She's in real estate and she's a bit of a bitch. I'd like to see you deduce the hell out of her."

They both laughed over the shared hostility towards their siblings.

John sat back, "So, feelings?"

"They're useless."

"How so? Don't you want to fall in love, have a family? Aren't you passionate about anything?" John couldn't understand what was going on in Sherlock's mind.

"I'm not sure what I want but I'm not… equipped for marriage or love."

"Equipped, are you a fucking robot?"

Sherlock frowned. He was visibly hurt by the comment. John wanted to tell him he obviously feels.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." Sherlock paused, drumming his fingers on the table. "I guess I should tell you, I'm a high functioning sociopath. I know you're a doctor and all but that means I lack empathy, I'm calculating, cold, little emotional response, narcissistic, charming, I have a high IQ, I'm manipulative, secretive, not a fan of the law, I hate boredom, I compulsively lie, and I'm very impulsive."

"So, are you going to kill me?" John leaned forward, almost inviting him to.

"No," Sherlock said quickly, like it was unfathomable.

"You do realise that if you were a sociopath you probably wouldn't have coffee with me or write me."

Sherlock thought, he obviously didn't have an answer.

"I'm just saying," John said smugly. "What makes you think you're one?"

"When I was antisocial as a child, Mummy took me to a doctor and I was diagnosed."

"Maybe you should go back."

"I don't trust therapists."

"You trust me enough to write letters about your thoughts."

"You're - that's… therapist get paid to be know-it-all arses."

"Maybe that's what you should be." John grinned.

"Funny, John." He returned the smile.

"I try."

Sherlock looked out the window, "Why isn't your family normal?"

John bit his lip, he wanted to talk about Sherlock more but he wasn't going to get anywhere. "Well, my sister's a bitch, always has been and my dad is an alcoholic. Harry's just taking after him."

Sherlock seemed a bit shocked that John was so up front about it. "Which is funny because he disowned her when she came out… not funny but - "

"Yes, exactly. I won't ask you how you figured that out but, yeah." John nodded.

"I take it you haven't told them you're bisexual?"

"Correct."

"Mostly because you wouldn't have a place to go when you're on leave."

John just nodded. "My mum would want me back, just like she always wants Harry back but every time she's home it's a big ordeal. They both have a tendency to get royally fucked, then argue and Harry storms out, breaking something." He took a sip of his tea. "How'd you know I was bi?"

"You were checking out the barista when I walked in."

"Oh." John felt a little embarrassed. He was more interested in Sherlock than anything.

"Very religious, is he?"

"Yeah, straight laced and blue-collar."

"With two children who enjoy sleeping with the same sex." Sherlock tried to fight back a smirk but he couldn't.

John didn't feel upset about because it was ironic.

"Will you ever come out to him?"

"Maybe, I don't know. I don't think I can see my mum upset that the family is so... shattered." John frowned and Sherlock did as well. Not a sociopath.

"Shall we talk about something else?"

"What are you doing with Cambridge now?"

"Well I'm not taking time off." Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft found out about my plan somehow and bribed me to stay in until I graduate. He even promised to help me work something out with my professors about not showing up to every class."

"He sounds like a good brother to me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Never tell him that and you'd hate him to be your brother."

"He sounds like an interesting bloke."

"If you say," Sherlock drawled out.

"Your detective work, how's that?"

"Oh, it's going swimmingly." He sat up straight in his seat. "Before break I helped someone in my dormitory find out why his teachers were accusing him of plagiarising. His roommate, who was taking the same classes as him, was basically copying books for word and switching his plagiarised papers with the roommate's well-written ones. It's all been boring stuff but it gives me something to do."

"Your assignments don't give you something to do but your dormitory detective work does." John smiled.

"Mycroft enjoys my extracurricular work, God help me. He'll want me to be a part of his secret service." Sherlock snorted at the thought.

John rested his head on his hand and studied the man across the table from him. He was either charming or about to murder John and/or use him in some scheme of some sort or he was not a sociopath. Sherlock was a bit odd but he wasn't a terrible person. He could see it in Sherlock's eyes that he showed some type of empathy when John talked about his family. There wasn't an empty, lying, shell there.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" John watched as Sherlock played with his lighter.

"Something small this year, probably spending it with Mummy and Mycroft. I'm sure it will be immensely boring. I'm not one for the day."

John nodded, "I have to spend it with my family, thank God my aunts and uncles will be around so Harry and dad don't have to be near each other all night."

"What are you doing for New Year?"

"Mmm, nothing as of right now, yourself?"

"Well, I wanted to ask you something; strictly as a… pen pal … would you like to come to my family's home outside the city? Mycroft is forcing me to attend and I feel like it will be less ghastly if you were there."

"That sounds," John didn't want to sound too over enthusiastic, "like it would be fun."

"It won't be fun but we can get pissed."

"That is fun."

Sherlock laughed, "I apologise ahead of time for anything my family says or does, especially Mycroft."

"I'm interested in meeting this brother of yours."

"I'm sure he'll ask you many uninteresting questions."

"I can ask him some uninteresting questions as well."

"I'm going to grab a cup of coffee, I feel like we're going to be here a bit longer."

They spent two more hours talking about Sherlock's cases, Sandhurst, and what John wanted to do with his military career amongst other things.

Sherlock was fascinating and brilliant. Not to mention handsome. John was never able to hold a conversation like he did with Sherlock too.

John went home and wanked in the shower. He couldn't stop thinking about touching Sherlock the entire time they had been talking but Sherlock didn't seem to be interested in sex. They were just _pen pals_. Nothing more. This could be a bit of a problem.


	4. New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to Sherlock's family home to ring in 1999.

**December 31** **st** **, 1998.  
**  
Sherlock picked John up in a black Jaguar after 7 o'clock. John was never good with cars, makes and models never interested him, but he knew it was expensive. Sherlock looked hot behind the wheel of it as well, it fit into his dark and mysterious persona he had going on. God, he wanted to just fuck him right there in the driver's seat. He couldn't though, just pen pals. Just friends. Their little grind and blowjob they had the first night they met was just a onetime deal. But Christ, John wanted to be buried-

"Sorry about being late, stuck in traffic. Holidays are hell."

"It's fine." John put his seatbelt on as Sherlock sped away from the curb of his parent's home.

"Sure you wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible, you're stressed."

John made a noncommittal noise.

Sherlock fiddled with the radio.

"Not going to voice why?"

"I already thought about it, I didn't think you'd want to hear it because you just went through it."

"Oh, yeah, I don't. I'm just surprised." Not a sociopath.

The past few days had been hellish for John. Christmas wasn't too bad and things were quiet for the most part until the 28th when his mother insisted on a family dinner. Of course Harry and their father got wasted and there was yelling and Harry broke his mum's favourite vase on her way out the door. The next day Harry practically forced him to go out and drink with some of her friends. She spent most of the night complaining about their father and at the end of the night she threw up on his shoes. The next day his father wasn't happy he went out with Harry so he received the cold shoulder and by the end of the night a drunken rant. He couldn't understand how his mum could tolerate all the bullshit.

"I hope I can make your night a bit more enjoyable than they have been."

"Well I'll be away for 24 hours, should be nice."

Sherlock flashed a smile over to John, "Why don't you spend more time with your mates?"

"I've been trying but everyone always seems to be busy, even still I have to be home sometimes."

"Right, well I hope that my family doesn't drive you as mad."

"I doubt that they will." John looked out the window and watched the suburbs of London roll by. "Your car?"

"God, no…my brother's." He sounded like he was shocked that John would think he'd own a car at all, let alone the gorgeous thing they were driving in.

"Nice." John felt the leather beneath his fingers. "Anything I should know before meeting your family, other than you don't seem to like them much?"

"I don't believe so. You may like them, maybe find them interesting."

"Other people's families are always better than their own."

"I don't believe that."

"Of course you don't."

When they pulled up to Sherlock's "family home", John couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open. He was picturing a nice house, a little out from the suburbs. Not a fucking mansion. A beautiful estate that looked like it stretched on forever. "Are you royalty?"

"No."

"Just asking…" John said as Sherlock parked near a few other cars.

He followed almost mindlessly after grabbing his bag. When they entered the front door John was so distracted by the ornate decoration and large entry hall to notice that there was a man talking to Sherlock about where to put the bags. "John!"

"Oh, ah yeah? Sorry."

"Your bag and coat"

"Oh, yeah." He hurriedly gave both to the man who then promptly walked away. "Butler?"

Sherlock groaned

"You're bloody rich. If I sliced you open, you'd be bleeding money!" John said softly. "Sorry, I had to get that out there. Now it's off my chest I feel a bit better." He was a little embarrassed to how he was reacting to the wealth of his friend. It shouldn't be a surprise from how Sherlock talks, dresses (what 19 year old wears suits?), and acts. But for some reason he wasn't expecting to be spending the night at an estate dating back to probably the 1800's. It was like he had stepped onto some period drama set or into some museum.

Sherlock smiled, "Come then, they've just finished up dinner and more guest are arriving apparently." Sherlock gestured in front of him. "I'll show you your room later on, it's across the hall from mine."

John felt the corners of his mouth turn down as he walked with Sherlock. He'd rather be sharing a room.

"Oh! Sherlock, my dear boy." A woman dressed in a tight cobalt blue dress hugged Sherlock, who tensed up at the affection when they entered a large room full of family. She had long blonde curly hair and green eyes. "Who is this?" She pulled away to look at John.

"John, Watson-I-my friend." John was a little surprised to hear Sherlock hesitate.

"I'm his Aunt Elizabeth." She held out her hand for John to shake.

John obliged, "Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, you're polite. I'm surprised you get on with Sherlock." She chuckled. "Mycroft has been looking for you, dear." She turned her attention back to her nephew. "Worried you may have wrecked the car-again."

Again? John was going to have to ask him about that later.

"Ugh, of course he was." Sherlock scanned the room, which was filled with music and impeccably dressed people. Obviously it wasn't all family. John was underdressed in his nice jeans and a button up. "Where's Mummy?"

"Probably having a word with the cook."

"The poor help."

"Mmm, yes. I need to go back to my dreaded conversation with cousin Richard." Elizabeth nodded then slipped away gracefully.

Sherlock sighed before turning to John, "Would you like a drink?"

"You did promise to get me pissed."

Sherlock went off to the bar, leaving John standing by the wall alone. "Ah, you must be John Watson, I'm Mycroft Holmes. Surely my brother has complained about me." John turned his head to find the elder Holmes brother. Around the same height as Sherlock, a little meatier but Sherlock was unhealthy thin, a more hawk like beak for a nose, and smaller eyes. Almost hard to see the resemblance.

"Yes, nice to finally meet you."

After a few more greetings and pleasantries, "John, I do hope you keep up correspondence with my brother when you return to Sandhurst in a few days."

"I plan on it, your brother is interesting."

"You've been a good influence on him." He looked away from John, trying to find Sherlock.

John did the same to see Sherlock looking rather uncomfortable talking to a woman in her early 40's. No doubt she was the matriarch of the Holmes. Same nose as Mycroft, same eyes and hair as Sherlock.

"Sherlock's always been brilliant and mischievous. As a child it was harmless-aside from the time he had broke his arm. Of course he was a bit different than the other children and had few friends but ever since around 13, 14 he's been intensely anti-social and even distant from the family. After 15 I haven't even heard him mention a friend. I was honestly shocked to hear your name brought up into conversation."

John frowned for the second time tonight but this time it wasn't over something petty.

"But it seems you've convinced him to stay at Uni and finish his education, even planting the idea in his head to travel after and see the world. Also encouraging his hobby of solving crimes. He's always been so bored with that brain of his but he might be on the path to put it to some good use."

"I'm glad I could help, I just can't believe he'd waste such a mind."

"That's Sherlock. It's a good thing you came along when you did, the day of our father's funeral. He took it hard after you left but not nearly as bad as I think it could have been."

"Wait-what?" John was in shock. _The event Sherlock was dealing with was mourning his father's death_?

"Oh-he…don't make a big deal of it."

"I won't, I'm just surprised. The funeral was the day we met?"

"Well it was the day after more likely."

 _So that's why he left so early_ , John wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it or what to say to Sherlock.

"How would you like to meet Mummy? I'm know that Sherlock won't introduce you himself. He's been caught by her anyway." Mycroft laughed.

John nodded and went with Sherlock's brother to Mrs. Holmes. "So nice to meet you, John." She greeted him warmly. So far the three relatives he met were all kind, John wondered how Sherlock was the way he was.

"You too."

"Sherlock doesn't tell me much but Mycroft says you're at Sandhurst, on your way to being apart of the RAMC?" She smiled, it was crooked like Sherlock's.

"Yes."

"Oh, fantastic."

"This is a lovely home. Thank you for letting me stay the night."

"Thank you, dear. Sherlock hang on to this one, he's far too nice for you."

Sherlock wasn't paying attention to the conversation.

"Have you seen the rest of the house? Sherlock, you should give him a tour."

Sherlock came back to the conversation, "I would but you and Mycroft seem to be doing a good job at talking his ear off."

Sherlock's mother frowned.

John looked at Sherlock, trying to get him to apologise.

"Come, John." Sherlock headed off in one direction. John went after him, going into the kitchen eventually where Sherlock snatched 2 bottles of champagne in one hand and 2 glasses in another. They walked in silence outside, John wished he had a coat but they weren't too long. Sherlock was leading him to the green house only a few steps from the house.

They were quiet for some time, John wandered around to study the plants while Sherlock opened one of the bottles and poured out their glasses. Sherlock climbed on top of an empty stretch of table. "What'd Mycroft say to upset you?" Sherlock asked, looking at John between some roses.

"That you haven't had a friend since you were 15. Also your father passed and his funeral was the day after we met."

Sherlock handed John his champagne over the flowers. "My father didn't pass, he killed himself." He practically bit.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, he was a terrible man. He never liked me much. He was always putting me down, saying I was strange." He gnawed on his bottom lip. "You see John, all families are a bit _fucked up._ "

"I'm still sorry." John moved back over towards Sherlock.

"As for not having any friends, I never really cared to. Everyone else treated me like my father did, why go through it?"

"Why are you friends with me?"

"You're kind, like Mummy and Mycroft as much as it pains me to say that. For some reason you don't bore me either like everyone else seems to." Sherlock cast his eyes down to the floor.

John jumped onto the table and put his palm on Sherlock's cheek. He moved his hand up to his hair, softly running his fingers through it before returning his hands to himself and taking a long sip of his champagne. _Just friends_.

"Why don't you think I'm weird?"

John just shrugged, "You're interesting, not weird." John took another drink. "Let's make this night a little lighter, shall we?"

"What do you suggest?"

"Ever play, I have never?"

"No, I don't play drinking games."

"It's like truth or dare but with alcohol and only the truth part. I'll say that something that I've never done and if you've done it, you take a drink. If you haven't done it either then you don't drink."

"This is simple." Sherlock refilled both of their glasses.

"It's a way to get to know each other."

"Ok, fine. You do know that I'll know when you're lying right?"

"Yes." John laughed. "Ok, I have never crashed a car."

Sherlock drank, "You know I have."

"You're just going to use deductive reasoning on me so this is fair."

"I have never been to medical school."

John drank, "If you're going to play that way…I have never been to a public school."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed the rules, "I have never worked in a coffee shop."

"How did you know?" John asked after taking a sip.

Sherlock just smirked.

"Fine then, I have never broken a bone." That conversation with Mycroft was coming in handy.

Another drink, "I have never left the Europe…wish I could say the UK because someone hasn't even if they insist on telling people to travel."

"You seemed bored with the world, plus I want to travel. You didn't." John drank. "And wait, you've travelled out of the UK?"

"Just to France, Mummy's French."

"Ah, I see." John thought, "I've never had a pet."

"Good guess."

"I knew you had to have had a dog or something."

"Cat."

John picked up the bottle and topped of the glasses, emptying it. He was starting to feel a nice buzz. They were going through the champagne a bit too fast.

After a few more innocent questions and opening the new bottle Sherlock finally turned it down the road where John knew it would end up because it always ended up there, "I have never slept with a woman."

John took a drink, "I have never made out with someone at boarding school."

Sherlock took a drink. "I have never had intercourse."

John chugged the rest of his glass, staring at Sherlock the entire time.

"I don't know why this is a big deal."

"If I had condoms the night we met-"

"I wouldn't have been able to say that."

John felt his cheeks were flushed.

"I don't see the big deal, I've done everything else." **  
**  
"Yeah but it's-you'd-I-"

"John, please." Sherlock laughed.

"If you don't think it's a big deal, why haven't you done it?"

"No one's ever wanted to do it with me."

"You're a hell of a kisser, that blow job you gave was pretty fantastic."

"That's as far as I ever got with Victor." Sherlock frowned.

"You're last friend."

"Yes."

"Right."

"Shall we continue this game?"

John shook his head.

"What then? Would you like to go back inside, I'm fairly certain I'm intoxicated enough that it won't make dealing with family that big of a deal."

"Have you ever been in a relationship, Sherlock? Outside of your mate, Victor."

He scrunched his nose and shook his head, "Relationships aren't my area. I can't even maintain a friendship. They're a lot of boring and tedious work that I'm not interested. I enjoy using my mind, not wasting it on someone who will end up just leaving me anyway because I'm a bit of a dick or I would leave them because I was bored with them."

John wasn't sure what to say. He wanted Sherlock to know that he would find someone who would put up with him and someone Sherlock would love forever, but who knows. _Maybe that can be me_ , John thought. But that was possibly wrong because maybe he could only make a friendship last with this anti-social so called sociopath.

"This is a rubbish night, I'm suppose to make you feel better."

"No, being with you is a hundred times better than being with my family, even my mates back in London. You're quickly becoming one of my best mates."

Sherlock looked like he didn't know what to say.

"Why don't you show me the rest of this place then we can rejoin the party for New Year?"

"Sounds like a good idea."

 

* * *

Sherlock woke up with a hangover lying next to _John._ Nothing had happened. Sherlock wouldn't let it. The first time they had met Sherlock told himself he was just acting out over his father's suicide. He had never expected to be falling in love with this random bloke who found him on the street. But he couldn't fall in love. There was no time for love. There was no space in his mind for it. If John was going to be anything, he was going to be a friend and confidant. He enjoyed being able to speak about things that he was normally hesitant to say aloud. He couldn't let himself become emotionally engaged in a relationship that would ultimately go up in flames. He needed to keep John as a friend.

_John. John. John. John. John._

"Mmm, god." John stirred, moving away from Sherlock. Sherlock had his body pressed to John's side the entire night. He rather enjoyed feeling a body next to him in his old bed. John was without his shirt, he insisted on taking it off as they walked into the room well after midnight. "Champagne causes one hell of a hangover."

"Sugar." Sherlock studied the lines of John's back. The muscles of a military man were now present unlike when they had met back in August.

"Mmmphmm." John pulled the covers higher. They didn't go far due to the fact Sherlock was still on top of them.

"Dehydration. We need water." Sherlock was fairly skilled at killing a hangover before there was even a threat of one but last night it would have been even fruitless to try. He knew there was going to be in trouble when John had insisted on playing that stupid game.

"Shhh." John reached behind him and swatted a hand in Sherlock's direction.

"You have a headache because-"

"Sherlock!"

"I'm going to get water."

Sherlock moved out of bed slowly. On his way out the door he ran into Mycroft, of course. "Hello baby brother, you're looking a bit…rough this morning. Did you and John have a good night?" He smirked.

"Not in the way you're insinuating." Sherlock leaned against the wall.

"Are you sure you two are not dating? He seems to be very fond of you."

Sherlock frowned. He saw that John was interested in Sherlock physically but he was choosing to ignore it.

"I like John, make sure you keep him in your life."

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically.

"He's a good man, you need him." Of course Sherlock already knew that. But he wasn't going to let his brother know.


	5. Letters Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual word count for this chapter is 2,677

**January 9** **th** **, 1999.  
**

 

Sherlock waited as long as he could to write John. He had seen him the day John went off to Sandhurst, grabbing breakfast down the road from John's family home. Sherlock wanted so desperately to kiss him goodbye. He knew John did too. But he couldn't. Even if he wanted to attempt a relationship it couldn't be with someone that could be his only true friend. **  
  
  
  
January 29** **th** **, 1999.**

Sherlock was dying with anticipation for 20 whole days. He couldn't wait to hear from John. Why did he have feelings for John? How does it make any sense? It made none. Love had zero real meaning. There was no real reason for it to be in his life. He could be fine without it. But why does everyone want love? Why is it so important to the rest of the world? Maybe he needed to start a study on it to collect evidence. Surely there was someone in the dorm that he could use.

  
  
  


Sherlock couldn't handle John's compliments but he read the letter over 35 times. He reread 'you're lovely and brilliant and amazing' 15 more times.

He needed to start a study on relationships ASAP.

 **February 18** **th** **, 1999.  
** Sherlock was too engulfed in his experiment to find time to write John until late at night after Sebastian had gone back to his room. Though he was collecting data he was actually enjoying it.

  


Sherlock was not in love with Sebastian (he didn't hate being with him and the sex was fun but other than that, it wasn't how he felt for John). He was still feeling _things_ for John. He needed to hear what John thought love was.

 **February 28** **th** **, 1999.  
** __

  
  
So that's what love is? Did Sherlock feel like he couldn't live with out John? Yes. Did he get a light feeling in his stomach around John? Yes. Was he happy with him? Yes. Comfortable? Completely. Did John make him laugh? Yes. They had great conversation. He didn't have any of those feelings for Sebastian, just lust. But still Sherlock didn't want to be in a relationship with John, like. Sherlock put the letter aside for a few days.

 **March 13** **th** **, 1999.**

  


**March 21** **st** **, 1999.**

**March 31** **st** **, 1999.**

Sherlock smiled to himself after rereading the letter before he sent it. It was obvious to him that the paragraph on love was all about John but John would never have any idea. Even though he never mentioned Seb until after the thought was finished.

 **April 7** **th** **, 1999.**

Sherlock groaned because John did hear that someone loves him, he just didn't understand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get too excited about the updates coming everyday. I have a few chapters I've written ahead which I'm editing/doing the letters and I've found time to do so almost everyday these last few days.


	6. France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John spend their breaks in France.

**April 17** **th** **, 1999.  
**  
"Sherlock!" He heard John's voice as he reached the platform. They agreed the most sensible place to meet was at the station in the morning.

John looked fit, even more so than when they saw each other a few months back. "John!"

The next thing he knew John's strong arms were wrapping around him. It was a long embrace. "I'm so excited to go away, let's board." John let go of Sherlock. He was beaming like a kid on Christmas.

"Already had to deal with a row between your sister and dad?" Sherlock questioned as they made their way on to the train.

"Unfortunately." John stopped at their compartment, putting his luggage overhead incase they had to share. He slipped into his seat and Sherlock followed his actions across from him. "But, none of that on this trip. We're going to enjoy life and be happy."

Sherlock laughed at John, not because it was something ridiculous to want but because John was so excited to be going away. "Looking forward to the break in monotony that is Sandhurst?"

"Yes, actually. It's not that I hate it but it's nice to do something-new." He stretched his legs out in front of him the placed John's last note on the table. "Shall we start as we did in December?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Very short letter."

"I didn't have much to say but I wanted to get back to you, just to let you know I got you letter."

"I like the idea of being a private detective." Sherlock went on to the subject of John's note. "I just have to figure out how to get that started. But it doesn't mean I'll be able to solve murders even though the police certainly need my help."

"You're so smart, everyone needs your help." John smiled.

 **"** Cheeky bastard." Sherlock returned the smile.

"But honestly, you would be some help to the police but I don't know what to tell you."

"I need to get someone's attention, earn their trust, show them how good I am, and then I'll be able to work my way in."

"I have no doubt you'll find a way."

"Does this mean I can drop out of Cambridge?"

"No." John shook his head. "No way, I'm seeing to it that you're getting a degree. Then you can do whatever you like."

"What ever I like?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Fine."

"Only about a year left." John tried to comfort his mate. Sherlock liked that although it didn't do much for his attitude on the subject. "So, let's move on to Sebastian, yeah?" Sherlock spotted a hint of jealousy in John's demeanour.

"Of course."

"Did you tell him you love him?"

"No."

"Sherlock, love is…its important in life to have."

"Why?" Sherlock never understood that idea. Love may be a nice thing to have, he was still unsure of that, but why was it important? It wasn't like water or food. It didn't save and heal like medication. His life wasn't going to end without it.

"Because, it is."

"Not enough for me, John."

"It's one of those things that I can't explain."

"Right."

Sherlock wanted John to tell him everything possible about love, he just didn't understand. How is it not possible to explain a concept? Especially one John was versed in. In December John told him all about Louise, John's first and so far only love. They had met in college, John's first year. They were together for 2 whole years but she left John because of his cadetship. Sherlock didn't tell him it was because she was cheating on him with his former best mate. He also thought he was in love with the first girl he slept with, Catherine at 15, but John admitted it was just hormones and the promise of sex.

"Do you miss him right now?" John spoke, as the train started moving.

Sherlock shook his head. He had a hard time lying to him. He was sure that this was a side effect to his feelings because he's never had a hard time lying to anyone else before in his life but he did love Mummy and Mycroft to some extent but had no problem lying to him.

"Mmm." John nodded. Sherlock like the 'mmm' sound that John made. He knew that there was something he wanted to say but he was afraid to say it.

"What is it?"

"Do you really want to hear it?"

"Yes, I'm always interested in what you have to say." That was the only time he could honestly say those words to anyone.

"You don't love him." Of course he didn't.

"Why?"

"You should miss him."

"Oh."

"Is he a bloody good shag at least?"

Sherlock felt his cheek flush, _damn capillaries_ , "I don't have enough data to know if it's a, as you say, bloody good shag, or not."

"Well if you don't love him, you can get on collecting data-safely."

"Why are you obsessive with telling me to be safe, John?"

"I don't know, I care about my friend."

"I'm not an idiot."

"You seem to like dangers and new experiences so I just feel like I need to drill it into your head."

"You're a very good doctor." Sherlock smiled at his friend.

"I hope." John glanced out the window at the countryside. "Do you like intercourse?" His question was quiet.

"I do, it's very stimulating." He drummed his fingers on the table. "And I would like to do it with some other men." _You, you, you, you, you_.

"Then you need to break up with Sebastian and pursue other-partners."

"I'm surprised you went with the term partner."

"Boyfriend? Fuck buddy?" John smirked.

Sherlock grimaced.

"You and words."

"What?"

"You're very particular, it's nice."

John feel sleep when they went into The Chunnel. Sherlock watched him; it reminded him on the first night they had met. He looked peaceful and innocent. Sherlock wanted to climb on top of him and feel his warmth, his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes steadily. The first night, it was comforting, he needed it. He didn't think that losing his father would affect him so much when it happened. Even if his father put him down and made him feel like nothing, he still was a part of Sherlock. There were good times when Sherlock was younger that he thought about sometimes and that was what made him so sad the night before the funeral. He'd never admit it to anyone (even admitting it to himself was hard enough). He supposed that he could tell John. You tell the people you love how you feel, right? But he couldn't tell John that he loved him so he didn't need to share everything. John woke up when the sun was shinning through the windows again. Sherlock wished it didn't wake him because the sun lit John in a way that made him look like a painting. It made his honey hair shine and his skin look warm. His lips were pink and had a small hint of a smile, like he was having a lovely dream. John's arms were folded at his chest, he must have felt a small chill. Sherlock couldn't stop looking but he snapped a mental picture before John started to stir from his nap.

When he was back to the land of the living (after stretching and making some nice noises while doing so) John dug out a bag of peanuts to share with Sherlock as a small snack. They chatted the rest of the way to Paris. Sherlock was amazed at how much they could talk about, normally he'd grow tired of a conversation with someone after a few minutes but John was different again. But he also was content in their silences, like when Sherlock drove the hired car to his family's home outside of Marly-le-Roi. He liked that John hmmed along to the songs that played on the radio.

John's reaction to the French house was less embarrassing than the one he had back in England. John commented even that it had a "quaint feel" and it fit in as a country house, a posh one. One thing about John that made Sherlock a bit mad was his apparent phobia of upper class things. Sherlock was unsure of how he could even be a friend with him because Sherlock was rich. Well he wasn't rich. He was born into a rich family and honestly didn't care for it much. John on the other hand was middle class and worked hard to earn his education. Sherlock often found himself wondering over the last eight months what it would have been like if he went to the same schools as John when he was younger. If they would have been friends or more before meeting in some alleyway one night. He surmised that in whatever alternate realities they were in, as long as they had the same personality traits, they were always meant to be friends, at the very least.

Sherlock liked the idea that there was a place and time where he and John were together, happily ever after. He called himself stupid for the thought but sometimes at night he went back to it because it made him feel all right.

They spent their days in Paris and the surrounding areas doing the normal tourist things. Sherlock would have hated it if John didn't enjoy the random lessons he received and the quick deductions Sherlock made about the people, places, and things around him. John made him laugh when he tried to speak French and he thought it was nice when John would scrunch is nose while reading a map or the small tourist book he had brought with him. It was a relaxing vacation even as they were seeing the sites. In the afternoon they would grab bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine or some beer and find a park close by to enjoy the sun. John often had a kip for 15 minutes after while Sherlock tried to watch the people around them but his eyes always went back to John (it was the hardest thing not to lean down and kiss him over and over).

For dinner they would go out to eat in Paris or Marly-le-Roi but the last night John declared they were going to make dinner. Sherlock was unsure of this was because John was worried about the amount of money he had spent on the trip or if he genuinely wanted to just eat in. He was receiving mixed messages from his deductions and didn't like it. Only John could ever do that. They were out of attractions to see so the day was spent in town at the local food shops finding ingredients for dinner. Sherlock bought 3 bottles of wine and a bottle of champagne and John complained that it was too much. John did most of the cooking as Sherlock watched from over his book. There was something intriguing about John in the kitchen.

After dinner and 2 bottles of wine they found themselves in the garden with the champagne on top of an old blanket, looking up at the darkening sky. Sherlock felt warm from the wine and had a slight hum in his body. When he kissed John after they made it through most of the champagne he was sure that he had never been happier in his life and probably never would be that happy again.

John's lips were warm and just as he had remembered them feeling. John's body felt just as strong as Sherlock imagined it would from all the training. As his tongue massaged John's, his hand slipped up John's shirt to feel his taut muscles, counting his ribs as his fingers moved up. John hummed happily at his touch and rubbed his back in return. Sherlock put a knee between John's thighs and took a moment to catch his breath.

John closed his eyes tight, "We can't do this Sherlock, we've had too much wine and spent too much time together this week." John's word said no but everything from his voice to his body language said, 'please, keep going'.

"I-I thought I read that you wanted to snog."

"You did but, Sherlock…I…you…you're with Sebastian."

"Is that your only problem with this?" Sherlock settled back in his earlier position before they had kissed, not touching John at all.

"Well that and you're my bloody best mate."

Sherlock frowned, "I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No, it's ok." John sighed, collecting his thoughts. "Honestly I wouldn't mind snogging you and shagging because the first time we did it was excellent but that could mess things up from how they are now. We have a great friendship and it could change a lot of things if we start being physical when we're together. I'm not saying it's bad but it could lead to bad things when we're apart."

"Like what?"

"Like what if I constantly want you and can't have you? Doesn't seem right and it could lead to some problems. Also if we become more than friends then what if we argue and leave each other? I don't want to lose you as a friend. You're such a good friend, I've had so much fun this week. I had fun when we met and I had fun over Christmas break." John said with a bit of a laugh because he was nervous. "Have I mentioned you have a boyfriend because you haven't? I know you're unsure if you love him or not but you can't cheat on him. Fuck, we're pissed too."

"I'm sorry." Sherlock closed his eyes. He felt so embarrassed. John obviously cared about their friendship a great deal, as Sherlock did. Apparently he had calculated the risk of a physical relationship with John correctly.

"Don't be sorry, Sherlock. I kissed back, remember?" John's face was flush but Sherlock was unsure if it was the wine, the snogging, attraction, or embarrassment. Maybe a combination.

They brought everything back inside and cleaned up after dinner in silence but it wasn't as comfortable as before. After cleaning John went up to his room alone while Sherlock sat and thought in silence. He possibly made the biggest mistake of his life. He had never felt so stupid before.


	7. Letters Part 3

**May 29** **th** **, 1999.  
**  
John waited and waited for Sherlock to write him. It had been a month and almost a week since they snogged in France. They travelled back to London with barely a word spoken between them. Sherlock returned to Cambridge only a day after and never gave John an invitation to come round like John had suggested in a previous letter. Turning Sherlock down was the hardest thing John had ever done, at least that's what it felt like at the time. He needed to do it for the sake of their friendship. He was possibly in love with Sebastian as well. Even if he wasn't, he wanted to have sex with other people. He also still didn't seem to keen on romantic relationships.

John gave in and sat down to write Sherlock.

  


 

 __**June 5** **th** **, 1999.** _  
  
  
_

__**June 8** **th** **, 1999.  
** __

__**June 20** **th** **, 1999.**

  
 

 __**July 5** **th** **, 1999.**

 

  
John winced when he sent the letter, he couldn't believe that he gushed over his "best mate's" body. Good thing Sherlock will just write it off as helping him with his experiment.

 **July 13** **th** **, 1999.**

 

 __**July 25** **th** **, 1999.**

 


	8. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock spend 2 days together

**August 15** **th** **, 1999.**

John walked up to Mycroft Holmes' flat around dinnertime in a very posh part of London, where he had never been before. Sherlock offered John to stay for a few days so he could be away from his family. "John, how nice to see you again. I hope all is well." Mycroft opened his door. He was dressed in a suit, like he was off to a business meeting. "I have a flight to catch, sorry I can't be more of a host. Do make sure my brother stays out of trouble?"

John laughed, "Thank you and I will. Have a good flight."

" _Thank you_ , come in and make yourself at home. Sherlock is in the sitting room on the right." Mycroft gestured in.

John heard a violin once inside the flat, it sounded like it was a CD because it was being played so perfectly. As he approached the sitting room the music grew louder. When he stepped over the threshold he found Sherlock playing with his eyes closed. He looked like he was in another world as the music poured out of him and into the air.

Sherlock opened his eyes as he stretched the last note out. "John," He spoke at the music disappeared.

"You're quite good." John set his bag down and Sherlock returned the violin to its case.

"Thank you, I've been playing since I was 5."

"Wow, I haven't been doing anything for that long."

Sherlock smiled like he knew something that John didn't. It sent a shiver up John's spine.

"Mycroft's place is like a mini version of your mother's." John looked around.

"I suspect that she had a hand in the decoration." Sherlock rolled his eyes before throwing himself on to the sofa.

John took a seat on the plush chair across from the sofa and took in the sight of Sherlock's long body. What he really wanted was to climb on top of Sherlock and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Some part of John's brain yelled at him to stop. He was sure that he had more sexual thoughts about his best mate than anyone has ever had in the history of the world.

"So, what shall we do?"

"I don't know."

"Would you like to spend the day doing nothing? Because I'm in the mood to lounge." Sherlock let out a breath in a way that said he was almost too lazy to breathe.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind that. Tomorrow we can go out." John settled into his chair.

"That sounds like a fantastic idea." Sherlock stretched out, wiggling his toes. _Christ, he's practically inviting me over there_.

"Why'd you even date that twat Sebastian?" John surprised himself with the tone and sudden question.

"Mostly collecting data. Then I liked the companionship for a little while and the regular sex was pleasing."

"You can't use relationships like that." John scrunched his face.

"I needed to see if I liked them, I do not."

"Sherlock, one bad relationship doesn't mean you have to never have another one."

"They take up too much of my time, I have other things I could be doing."

John caught his frown before it fully formed.

"Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"Drugs?"

"John, really? Lets have fun, plus we've discussed this in our letters."

"I'm just concerned as a friend." John was also worried about having to deal with another addict. Harry and his father were enough. He didn't need his best mate/pen pal/favourite fantasy being one as well.

"And Doctor."

"That too."

"Don't worry John, it was-harmless and I only did cocaine a few times. Please don't worry." Sherlock looked him in the eye, like he knew it was the only way John would believe him.

"Ok, don't do it anymore though."

"I won't. Oh. You don't want me to take drugs because of your family?"

John just nodded.

"Don't worry, I would hate to let you down."

John smiled smugly like he had won something.

They watched crap movies on the telly and Sherlock complained most of the time. He ruined all the plots and pulled every movie apart. John didn't mind though.

The next day was spent in all of John's favourite places of the city, as well as some strange odds and ends shop Sherlock found interesting. John's favourite of all was a second hand record store where John had spent a lot of time when in med school. He found it once when he was a teenager, just wandering about town after skiving his classes. John owned what could be seen as an excessive amount of records. He's sure that Sherlock would make some smart comment about it.

Sherlock passed the time in the store talking about whom the records previously belonged to.

After returning their new possessions (Sherlock: magnifying glass, a new violin bow. John: Come and Get These Memories by Martha and the Vandellas, Four Tops Hits, and Highway 61 Revisited by Bob Dylan) to Mycroft's flat they went out to dinner.

"How did I not deduce your love of music?" Sherlock set his menu down.

"Hmm, not sure." John smiled. He loved it when Sherlock found something new about him as much he loved the feeling of Sherlock knowing something he didn't. "But you should stop mulling over it. You'll get lines on your forehead early."

Sherlock grunted as the waiter came over to take their orders.

Once they were through with dinner Sherlock and John walked back to Mycroft's flat.

They stumbled upon a crime scene, "How do you feel about seeing me at work?"

"Sherlock…" John furrowed his brow. "You can't just walk into a crime scene."

"Anyone can walk into anywhere. You just have to make sure that the timing is right." Sherlock looked around and made a move for the crime scene tape.

John closed his eyes. _Fuck, we're going to be arrested tonight aren't we?_ When he opened his eyes again he found Sherlock explaining to a detective at the scene "…so clearly it has to be the chauffeur."

The detective sighed and scratched his head then gestured Sherlock to start walking. As the both approached John at the edge of the tape, "Mr. Holmes, you're either a serial killer or a bloody genius."

"John want to check to see what the time of death is." Sherlock looked back at the body.

"No, you're the one that walks on to crime scenes."

"I just wanted to make the point that I'm not a serial killer. Plus, I've been with John all day."

"Ah, hello John, I'm DS Greg Lestrade." They shook hands.

"Nice to meet you."

"Didn't think Sherlock actually had any friends."

John laughed, "Yeah, it's amazing I put up him. But I don't see him much so it helps."

Sherlock ducked back under the crime scene tape.

"You're a Doctor, correct? Sherlock mentioned it-not that he ever really mentioned you."

John quirked an eyebrow, _he talks about me…vaguely but he talks about me_ , "Yes, actually I'm RAMC."

"I-"

"Can you two stop with your small talk and solve the crime already?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade.

"Fine, right. Thank you, Sherlock."

"One day, you're going to be calling me for help."

The Detective Sergeant rolled his eyes as Sherlock took off down the street, leaving John there. "Nice to meet you."

"You too, good luck with him." Greg said as John ran after Sherlock.

"Thanks for leaving me behind." John finally caught up with Sherlock after half a block.

"It was the fastest way to end the mindless conversation."

John nudged Sherlock's shoulder, "You could have just said, oi John let's get back to the flat _please_ because I'm done here."

"Then there'd be good byes and blah, blah, blah." He flapped his arms about.

"You have no social graces."

Sherlock grumbled something as they came to the door of Mycroft's flat.

"They didn't teach you much at Eton? Mummy didn't send you to etiquette classes?"

Sherlock just glared as they reached the sitting room.

"Where's the sharp tongue?" John shoved his mate on to the sofa with a playful grin.

In turn Sherlock grabbed his shirt and pulled John with him. "For once it's in my mouth."

"How about it-"

"Ah, good evening boys. I'm surprised you're in so early." Mycroft's voice came from behind the sofa. "Terribly sorry to interrupt."

John could feel his face flush as he practically fell off of Sherlock, "Oh, hello Mycroft. Didn't know you were coming back today."

"Spying in Bulg-"

"Sherlock." Mycroft warned. "Did you have a nice 2 days?"

"Yes. Thank you again for letting me stay here."

"Not a problem, John, someone has to keep my brother in line."

Sherlock stood up, "I'm off to bed."

Sherlock was up the stairs when Mycroft gave John a funny look, "What?"

"Well, that was an invitation, John. I thought you would have awkwardly scrambled out of here."

John's heart skipped a beat, "That was?"

"You two are…involved?"

"No, no, we're just mates."

"Hmm, oh. So that little display on the sofa…"

"That was…that was…" _What was that?_ "Sherlock doesn't want to be in a relationship."

"He's also rubbish with friendship but you've been around for a year now." Mycroft set his bag on the coffee table. "My brother, for some reason, always felt as if he didn't deserved to be loved. That little experiment relationship with that ghastly Sebastian seemed to reaffirm it but John, if you love him, you should tell him."

"I can't ruin our friendship, like you said, he's rubbish at them."

Mycroft frowned, "I suppose you're right. Goodnight, Doctor Watson."

John nodded and went up to the second floor of the flat. He found himself standing at Sherlock's door unsure of what to do. If he walked into the room the whole dynamic of their relationship was going to change. The snogging in France and the almost snogging on the sofa lead John to think that Sherlock wanted that. But then all of Sherlock's moaning about how he hates relationships and how they're not his area sent him to a different conclusion.

John couldn't do it. He took a deep breath and went to his own room. No matter how much he wanted Sherlock he knew that a relationship with Sherlock would only lead to heart break. He wasn't normal, which John loved, but that meant Sherlock was easily bored. In his one long-term relationship John enjoyed it when things settled down and there was a bit of routine. He liked when it was familiar. Sherlock would hate it. John didn't want to lose what he had and what he had was an amazing friendship with Sherlock Holmes. He could live with the constant underlying sexual tension.


	9. Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John surprises Sherlock for his graduation.

**June 28** **th** **, 2000**

Sherlock and John's letters started to become a bit more infrequent over the year. John completed his medical training before being sent to Kosovo. Sherlock spent the year trying his hardest to concentrate on completing his degree. He continued his sexual experiments but they became less frequent as well. He was also starting to use cocaine regularly to help control his increasing boredom and outrageous moods. It made him feel ok and sorted, like when he was with John. But he could never tell John. He'd let him down. He was afraid that he was already losing him because of the lack in communications. They had only exchanged 11 letters and saw each other once in the 10 months. He was unsure if the almost kiss on the sofa or maybe he was getting tired of Sherlock's manner.

Sherlock was officially a graduate of Cambridge. During the degree ceremony he was sure he saw the honey hair and easy smile of John Watson. He spent a good amount of the ceremony trying to decide what was wrong with him now that he was hallucinating. Could it be the lack of sleep? Maybe side effects from the cocaine? Brain tumour? Schizophrenia?

Sherlock found Mummy and Mycroft by the tree they had designated for their meeting place when it was all over.

"Oh, look here, the great Sherlock Holmes has a degree." The familiar voice came from behind him.

"John!" He was happy that he was not hallucinating. He had no time for dealing with whatever it was that could have been causing it. "What are you doing here?"

"Seeing I pressured you to stay in school, I figured it was only right I was here."

"Nice to see you again, John." Mummy smiled widely then hugged John.

"How lucky of you to be on leave now." Mycroft grinned. Sherlock was sure he had something to do with it.

"Only here for 3 days. But yes, excellent timing."

"You will stay at the house, won't you?" Mummy straightened John's tie.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"You can and you will."

Sherlock felt as if he was in shock watching the exchange between his family and John.

"You're quiet, would you like me to leave?" John grinned.

"Oh, stop being cheeky. You don't want to leave."

"Sherlock, John I want a picture."

"Oh, this will be our first picture!" John put his arm on Sherlock's back and got close.

"Almost 2 years of friendship and this is your first picture? I'll send you a copy, dear."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Smile, mon petit."

Sherlock did as he was told but it was hardly a forced or fake smile (even though Mummy used her favourite term of endearment for him). He had John next to him. John's was arm on him. John was smiling in a photograph with him. John was safe. Not that there was much of a threat in Kosovo now but obviously anything could happen. But nothing did happen.

Sherlock spent the hour and forty-two minute car ride studying John. He seemed to be a bit older, more mature than he was when they had met 2 years previous. He was happy to be England. He looked strong. He was comfortable with Mummy and Mycroft. But there was something John was concealing. He was going to have to figure it out before the leave ended.

Sherlock was happy to see John. Elated, rapturous, jubilant, over the moon, as well as every other synonym there is. He didn't want him to leave. Would it be wrong to kidnap him and take him with to travel around the world? Surely being AWOL is something John would never do because he follows all the rules. He's the perfect military man, really.

"People will be arriving within the hour." Mummy spoke as they entered the home.

"I don't understand why we need a party."

"This is a cause for celebration. My boy has a degree in Chemistry from Cambridge."

Sherlock didn't want to be with anyone but John.

"Don't worry Mrs. Holmes, he'll ge through it. It's only a few hours." John shouldered his bag.

"Sherlock, show John up to his room. I need to make sure everything is in order."

After settling in they went on a walk around the estate. Sherlock normally hates walks but John likes them. _Sacrifice is a part of relationships. I could do that with John._

"We need to write more often." John looked down at his feet.

"I know…it might be difficult though."

"Why's that?"

"I'm travelling for the next year or so, I'm not too sure when I'm going to be where."

"Oh." John frowned. "No, I mean good! I'm so happy you're doing it."

"It's not that I don't want you to because I would love you to. I'm just not sure how we could keep in touch."

"What about email?" John questioned.

"We could, I…"

"Are you sentimental about receiving letters in the post?" John teased.

"Oh, shut up." Sherlock snared.

"You are! That's cute."

"I'm not cute, Watson."

John just smiled.

"You're happy to be home." Sherlock said because the silence hung in the air a bit too long for him.

"I'm happy to be with you." John put his arm on Sherlock's back one more time.

"You are?" Sherlock stopped and John gripped his shirt.

"Of course, you're my-best mate."

"John-I-I…"

"Sherlock!" A little girl's voice interrupted. His cousin Anna, who thought he was the most fascinating person. Sherlock figured it was because he didn't coo at her like all the adults seemed to do.

"You'll tell me whatever it was you were about to say later. Come on then, let's go celebrate you. You do love a good ego stroking, I'm sure there'll be a lot."

Sherlock cursed his family with every expletive that he's ever heard because he was about to work up the courage to tell John that he wanted to kiss him. He was going to ask it would have been ok. If he cursed out loud, he felt that John might have been proud of his vulgar language. John wouldn't like that it was directed towards his family though.

John did more mingling than Sherlock. He was trying to decide if he could tell John that he loved him and if he could be in a romantic relationship with John. It's not that he didn't think of that all the time but it was more prominent with him there.  
  
There were problems with being in a romantic relationship with John. One was, he'd never be able to see him. It would be a very long year in a relationship to be away. But he could stay and wait for John to come back from leave again. He could start building a business. Pick up clients. John would tell him to go travel because John wants him to see the world and it would be stupid for Sherlock to wait around.

Later, when everyone finally left, Sherlock and John were talking in Sherlock's room. "You're not even going home?"

"I don't want to be home." John played with a lose thread on the duvet, not looking at Sherlock.

"Oh, that's…"

"Sad?"

"A bit."

"I just can't deal with them. When I'm home, I want to be happy. I didn't even want to leave Kosovo until I remembered you were graduating. You and my other mates are the only things I want to see when I come home. My mum too but that's hard to do without my dad or Harry." Something sounded inauthentic about his explanation but Sherlock couldn't put his finger on it. Obviously his family had something to do with the concealment he picked up on earlier.

Sherlock frowned because he didn't know what to say to make John feel better. This was another part of love that he couldn't do or he wasn't sure of. He was sure that it would make him a terrible partner if he couldn't help his other half through problems by talking about it. He also knew he'd get bored at some point and he couldn't hurt John. Hurting John is the last thing that he wanted.

John looked hurt enough now.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want a shag?" John pressed his lips together and squinted like he was studying his mate's reaction.

Sherlock's mind seemed to stop working.

"Ah…I shouldn't have asked. I was just thinking, as mates…ah…I could use it."

Something was clearly wrong because John would never ask for a shag, "Has something happened, John?"

John looked very uncomfortable, "My dad…has liver cancer."

"Oh."

"I can't go home to see him because before I left for Kosovo I came out-as bisexual and they…my dad…he-well I can't go home when I'm on leave. But-"

"What you said before about not wanting to be home, you actually want the opposite. You want to be able to go home because you want to see him?" Sherlock spoke softly because when he was a child he remembered how his mother used that certain tone when he was upset.

John rubbed his face, "Yes. I'm sad, this situation is sad."

"The situation is not sad."

"What is it then, Sherlock?"

"Complicated."

"With all the bloody feelings? I'm starting to see why you don't like them." John gestured around himself like you could actually see the feelings. "He doesn't even want to see me. I let him down as a son in his eyes. Harry and Mum don't know how long he has. He has to go through some procedures, you know? It just happened recently. But the way he drank, I don't have much hope."

Sherlock felt awkward. John says that he's so good with his words but in situations like these they tended to fail him.

"It's ok, you don't have to say anything."

"Is this why you didn't bring it up to me before in a letter?"

John nodded, "I didn't want to put any pressure on you. I know you get nervous about confronting _feelings_."

Sherlock moved so he could hug the army doctor. It seemed like the only thing to do.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome?" Sherlock let go of John.

"How do we always end up in such deep and sad conversations?" He let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm not sure. I never have deep or sad conversations with anyone else. Did you want to shag because you're depressed?"

"Yeah-um-I thought-ah-it'd make me feel better. You know-"

"Yes, the chemicals produced from an orgasm can make you feel very _happy_."

"I know we don't shag but I thought I would ask. It'd get me to stop thinking about the whole situation because that's all I've been thinking about lately."

"No, no it's ok. I don't mind. I wouldn't care. I don't need it but I wouldn't turn it down…"

"I don't want to change our dynamic."

"Hasn't it already changed? We barely write each other much anymore."

"Very true."

"But I don't want our relationship to change. Well I do, I want it to be as it was before."

"Is this what you wanted to talk about earlier…well talk about more?"

"Yes." Sherlock lied. John didn't need to deal with any more emotions or feelings right now.

"Ok, we'll try to email or write. We can do it. Your friendship means the world to me, Sherlock and if I'm going to get through this with my dad then I'm going to need you."

Sherlock's eyes grew wide with worry.

"Don't worry. I won't expect anything out of you by way of comforting words or anything. I might just need to vent."

"When you're home on leave, you can stay here or at Mycroft's even if I'm not in the country. My family won't mind, I know you hate spending time with Harry."

"That's a hell of an offer."

"You have to have options."

John nodded as he took Sherlock's hand, "Thank you, I mean it. You're my best mate and always will be."

"My feelings are the same." He squeezed back.

"Well, I'd kill for a sodding cigarette right now."

"Here I thought you quit." Sherlock pulled the pack out of his pocket.

"I did but I feel like I need one. Didn't even get to have a good shag before it." John took the one Sherlock offered then clumsily lit it.  
"Did you really want to?"

John took a long drag, "It's probably better that we didn't."

Sherlock agreed, as much as he wanted it. It could lead to some possible emotional breakdown or maybe fabricated feelings of love towards Sherlock because of the physical intimacy.

After a few minutes in silence John stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the night table then sprawled out on one side of the bed, "How do you feel about a cuddle?"

"Women who are in purely platonic friendships cuddle, there's no reason for men to not be able to do so."

"Come here, then."

Sherlock rested his head on John's chest, John's arms wrapped around him, "Shouldn't I be holding you?"

"No, this is good."

"Ok."

Sherlock felt John relax. He heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened as he drifted off to sleep. Sherlock intended on staying awake but he found himself so comfortable that he couldn't fight his heavy eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for all the angst, I honestly had no idea that I was going down this road when it started. I swear, they'll be happy eventually


	10. Letters (well emails) Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual word count 2,755

**August 1** **st** **, 2000.**

John logged on to his email, surprised to see a correspondence from Sherlock. He wanted to see it, of course, but he wasn't expecting it at all. He understood that Sherlock was busy searching the globe and collecting data. He had Sherlock's email if he needed anything. He wanted Sherlock to have fun, at least Sherlock's definition of it.

The last time he saw Sherlock while on leave he was having a bit of an emotional crisis. He had only found out about his father a few days before and seeing Sherlock for the first time in months sent him into some kind of a tizzy for some reason. Asking for a shag was out of line and he was so relieved when Sherlock seemed to understand what was going on in his mind. A cigarette and a cuddle was enough to ease his problems for the time. They spent the 2 nights they had together snuggled up in bed. It was 2 of the best nights John had ever had.

The intimacy and affection with Sherlock was something that he had never experienced with any girlfriend or boyfriend but they weren't even dating with the snuggling and holding hands and the occasional run of fingers through hair. Maybe they were together and they just never told each other. Or had sex in almost 2 years. Or said they loved each other.

 

**September 27** **th** **, 2000**

John was having a tough day. Mum had called to say that dad wasn't doing well. He needed a pick me up and it was like Sherlock knew that even thought he was thousands of miles away.

 

 

**November 24** **th** **, 2000**

  
  


John sighed after he hit send. His heart was starting to ache without Sherlock. He found himself snuggling with pillows trying to remember how Sherlock felt at night. He needed to at least tell him that he was missing him.

**April 15** **th** **, 2001**

 

**August 20** **th** **, 2001.**

  


**September 11** **th** **, 2001.**

When the news broke the first thing John did was find the nearest computer and email Sherlock to make sure he was ok.

**September 12** **th** **, 2001.**

John spent an agonizing, long day waiting for a response. When one came a weight was lifted off of his shoulders.

 

 

 


	11. Letters Part 5

**October 5** **th** **, 2001.  
**  
John sat and looked at the computer screen with a fresh new email to Sherlock open but nothing came to him. He couldn't tell Sherlock in an email. He needed to write it down on a piece of paper, maybe copy it twenty times, frame one and put the others in a fire proof lock box to know for sure that the words would never die. He knew Sherlock could accidently delete the email but he'd never throw away a letter from John. He needed to write this as well as figure out how to get it to Sherlock in 24 hours, before he deployed to Afghanistan.

The army doctor wasn't scared to go into Afghanistan. Sherlock was right 3 years ago; John is an adrenalin junkie. He was scared that the odds of him dying were about to shoot through the roof and he could potentially die without telling Sherlock how he really felt. He knew the declaration he was about to write was probably something dramatically romantic that you could find in love novels about soldiers and the girls that they could never really have because they loved someone else or their family didn't approve.

John picked up his notepad and pen.

  


John sealed the envelope then went to call Mycroft. "Oh, hello John. Is there something that I can do for you?"

"I need you to get something to Sherlock. It's really important." He sighed loudly.

"Ok, no problem. Overnight what ever it is to me and I'll make sure it's in Sherlock's hands as soon as possible."

"Ok, thank you…thank you so much."

"Anything John, you're my brother's…best friend."

John sighed, "Yeah. Thank you, again."

 

* * *

**October 18** **th** **, 2001.**

Sherlock was in Brazil, surprisingly enjoying the beach. When he arrived back to his hotel he found that he had a letter. He groaned when he saw Mycroft's handwriting. He opened the envelope once he was back to his room to find another but this had John's print on the front.

He had to read the letter 3 times in order to comprehend it all. He cried the first time through so he felt like he didn't absorb it all. After a getting his composure back he read it again. The third time was to store it all in his brain. He had a special file for John. This letter was the most important thing he had ever saved.

Sherlock knew his letter would never be anywhere as perfect as John's but he need to respond right away. He needed to confirm John's feelings.

  


Two weeks later Mycroft called with John's contact information. Sherlock smiled and was filled with complete joy as he sent the letter. He didn't know the heartbreak he and John were going to feel in the weeks, months, and years to come because his letter would never make it into John Watson's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	12. Heartbreak

**December 15** **th** **, 2001.**

One month and two weeks after he sent the letter there was no response. Sherlock decided to scrape off two weeks for the mail time. Then another two weeks for John to write back and get the mail to Sherlock. So really, only two weeks. Still though, that's a long two weeks. Mycroft assured him that John was alive and healthy.

What else could have happened? He changed his mind? John hated himself as soon as he sent his letter? He didn't like Sherlock's reply? He's afraid of Sherlock's feelings? He didn't think that they'd be reciprocated?

"John still hasn't answered?" Mycroft found Sherlock in his sitting room looking through the mail.

"No!" Sherlock snapped. "How do I call him?"

"I have no information on that. What were the letters about?"

"Oh, for god sakes you know!"

"Finally declared your love? It took you both long enough. I'm surprised at the drama of it all."

"It's taking him too long to answer me back."

"He's probably very busy, invading Afghanistan and all. Both your feelings are now out there so that's very good." Mycroft offered a smile.

"This is important!"

"As are his duties."

"Queen and country. He's so bloody quaint. My god." _I love him._

"You have for a long time now, I saw it when you visited for New Year 3 years ago."

"Are we actually having this conversation?" Sherlock said into his hands.

"We've never had one like this before because you were too busy being-"

"A sociopath."

"You never were one."

"It was easier when I had sociopathic tendencies."

Mycroft sighed loudly, he hated when his brother would say he was a sociopath. He hated those years where he was withdrawn from the world, when he lost the wonderment of childhood. "Don't do this Sherlock."

"Do what?"

"Revert back to your teenage self. Well I guess it started at 11. But do not do this."

"There was nothing wrong with me then."

"There's nothing wrong with you now."

"I'm so sickeningly in love with someone it's making me crazy. It has for three years. It's utterly ridiculous." Sherlock's voice cracked. He hated it.

"You should have told him before, maybe you'd feel less-"

"Insane!" Sherlock threw himself on to the couch. If he didn't deserve to have a massive sulk now, he never would. John's letter was everything that he ever wanted and if it was going to be taken away from him so soon, he wasn't going to be able to ever be happy.

"Sherlock-"

"Bugger off, Mycroft. January can't come soon enough for me to move."

"No, it can not."

Sherlock's brother finally retreated from the battle, leaving the man to sulk in peace because after over 20 years of dealing with Sherlock he knew when to stop.

He gave John one more month before he would delete his letter, at least that what he wanted to do. He wouldn't delete John, he couldn't. He'd keep those memories there because he couldn't bear to delete the man all together. He was going to go on in life acting like John had never declared his love because it was too much to live with. He swore to never be in a relationship again, romantic or friendship-nothing. He lived plenty of years without feeling and feeling for John for three years was enough.

Sherlock spent the entirety of two days curled into Mycroft's couch before leaving the house. He spent it reliving every moment that involved John over the last three years. He was trying to find that moment he fell in love, like if he could know the exact moment he'd understand it all. But he couldn't find it. How did John know that he fell in love the moment on the table in the greenhouse? This was the reason Sherlock wanted John to describe love to him so often, he just didn't understand. But he knew that he heart wanted John, god did it want him.

On January 16th, 2002 Sherlock Holmes started his descent into London's underbelly in an effort to purge his body of feelings for John. He found that heroin did a brilliant job of helping him lose hours where cocaine helped him focus on experiments and cases, which he was picking up from very random clients around London. Simultaneously, oddly enough, began to become a permanent fixture at crime scenes with the new Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Lestrade did a good job ignoring the obvious signs of drug abuse because even though he was high most of the time, he was able to solve the crimes faster than any veteran man or woman at the Yard. Sherlock just assumed that the man was an idiot to not know any better.

Sherlock was living in a tiny flat in a not so good part of London. Mummy tried her hardest to get Sherlock to move to a better location but it was fruitless. Mycroft had his suspicions to why Sherlock picked the location his did but he couldn't do anything about it because his brother was the most stubborn man he knew. On many occasions Mycroft found himself wishing death for an Army Doctor in Afghanistan.

 

* * *

**Kabul, Afghanistan. March 2002.**

After John sent the letter he did everything he could to not think about Sherlock's reply for 2 weeks, invading a country was a very good distraction. John should have been worried that he loved the sound of gunfire, the boom of an RPG, the uncertainty of what a patrol would bring, and the rush he had from saving a life in the battlefield. The moments he hated, outside of someone dying while he was trying to help them, were the moments of complete silence. It was when nothing was going on that he sat and thought endlessly about Sherlock.

He let a month pass before completely freaking out over the fact that he never received a reply. He hated himself silently for months then in March, almost 6 months after confessing his love, he had a nervous break down in the medical tent one agonisingly quiet night. All his feelings bubbled up to the surface and finally exploded.

He found himself on the ground behind a cot having a panic attack because he knew that Sherlock didn't love him or couldn't bring himself to be in a romantic relationship. He was sure when Sherlock saw John's letter he probably panicked then threw it away. He never spoke of it to anyone and he never intended to write back. John ruined their friendship. He ruined a relationship with the only person he'd ever truly loved. John felt like he ruined both of their lives. He was regretting the letter more than he ever regretted anything in his life. He missed writing Sherlock so much that it actually hurt every single day. His heart ached when he thought of the tall, lanky, gorgeous man back in London. He worried that he ruined Sherlock's ability to make friends because he ruined this friendship. It only took 6 months for him to let out his emotions over it.

One of the nurses, Kristi, found John on his knees, a crying and not breathing all that well. "Is-ah-can…is there something I can do? Are you ok, John?"

"I'm, there's nothing wrong with me medically." He said once he could breath again.

"What about…not medically? Most people don't cry like that over nothing."

"Nothing." John finally stood up. "Nothing." He repeated, hoping Kristi would believe him. "Nothing." One more time and maybe he'd believe himself.

It didn't work, "It's stressful being here."

"It's not here. It's back home."

"Your sweetie?"

John laughed because it hurt too much to do anything else.

"Did she write you that bloody 'dear John' letter. Er, ah, bad-"

John started to cry again.

"Oh, I'm sorry John."

"He didn't write me. That's the problem. He didn't." John sobbed.

Kristi looked a bit shocked then hugged John because she didn't know what else was the proper thing to do in this situation.

When John found his brain again he looked at Kristi, "I said he out loud, didn't I?"

"You did."

"You wouldn't-"

"Tell anyone? No, never, why would I do that?"

"Ok, thank you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." John rubbed his face.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's going to be fine."

"That's-that-yeah…" John knew that it was a line to make him feel better.

"That was a crap answer to give you." She frowned.

"It's fine, thank you." John reassured her.


	13. Closure

**August 28** **th** **, 2003.  
**  
John buried himself in his work in Afghanistan for a year. He returned back to the UK and hated every moment of those 3 months. He hated that nothing happened and all he could think about was Sherlock, even though it had been over a year. He hated being on the same island as Sherlock. He was so close to the person who completely shattered his heart. The thing that killed him is Sherlock crushed him with silence. John probably could have lived with things if Sherlock had written him back, explaining why he couldn't 1.) Be John's friend 2.) Be John's boyfriend. John just needed to know what Sherlock was thinking. John was going to find out because he was now on leave, headed back home.

Unfortunately the reason he was home in the first place was for his father's funeral. He had been doing well but then took a turn for the worst. John wasn't going to go but he needed to be there for his mother. He knew that Harry would be about as strong for his mum as a piece of paper and he couldn't leave her alone. She was a good lady, deep down, even if she stayed with that drunk for so many years. It's not like she had much of a chance to get out of it, at least in her mind.

But first thing John did when he arrived in London was go to Sherlock's place, still carrying his bag right off the plane because he needed closure and there was no better time to do so. He met the bloke exactly 5 years ago, why not come full circle? Yes it had almost been 2 years since he sent that letter but he still needed to hear the rejection come from Sherlock's mouth. The 4 days home were going to be about closure and healing.

He had Sherlock's new address from Mrs. Holmes, who seemed extremely surprised to hear from him. She made short small talk and apologised about John's father.

John stood in front of the door to Sherlock's flat. The building was dirty and in a fairly dodgy part of London, which was really surprising to John because when he thought of the name Holmes he thought of opulence. John knocked 4 times then just tried the doorknob.

What he found was Sherlock with a needle stuck in his arm in the messy and cluttered apartment.

"Fucking hell." John didn't need this but he went into "doctor mode" because he couldn't think of anything else that he could do.

He called 999 and gave the address then told the operator that he came to find Sherlock with the needle in his arm, "Yes, yes…his pulse is weak-I can-fuck I can barely feel it. Shallow and slow breathing, pinpoint pupils-obvious an overdose-ah heroin most likely." John looked up at Sherlock's half-lidded eyes. "How much heroin did you take, Sherlock?"

Sherlock did not answer.

"Why?" His voice broke. "Goddamnit, Sherlock. You're a fucking genius and—"

"Sir, is he still breathing?" The operator broke the oncoming tirade.

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Why are you doing this?"

No answer again.

"This isn't the closure I wanted."

John didn't know how long he sat there with his fingers on Sherlock's pulse. Sherlock was carted away. John gave Mummy and Mycroft's information the best he could to the EMT's. Then he went home.

He hugged his mum, asked her if she was ok, discussed the funeral arrangements, went up to his old room, closed the door, and sat in silence.

It was the worst silence he had ever experienced. Sherlock was going to live but what if John had not got there? What if he went home first? He would have discovered his former friend's/love of his life's body. He vomited in his bin three times thinking about that. Thinking about why Sherlock would be pumping his body full of drugs, ruining his beautiful brain. John had a deep gut feeling that he was part of the problem Sherlock was doing drugs, not all the problem because he knew Sherlock had a naturally addictive personality and he was always bored. But he was sure it was partly his fault.

John slept the rest of the day then suffered through the funeral in silence. Family and friends offered words of comfort but it wasn't this father that John was mourning, it was Sherlock. He always swore, no matter what, he'd never be able to live with an addict. He spent all of his life seeing the suffering can bring. No matter what he had felt for Sherlock before, he had to stop loving Sherlock. This had to be is closure.

"You look like shit. Thought you would hold up better than that." Harry sat down next to John on their mum's front steps. She was surprisingly sober for the event.

"Thanks. It's not about him."

"Is it the war?"

John shook his head.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No, I just," John sighed. "I'm just sort of getting over someone."

"Well you look like you're on the verge of breaking down."

John grunted.

"How about some whisky?" And there was the Harry he knew.

John couldn't return to Afghanistan fast enough. He needed to get out of England and into some action. He needed the bullets, the bombs, the feeling of the imminent attack. He needed the blood, the guts, the scalpels. He needed it to forget and get over everything that was in England.

It took John awhile but he moved on from constantly thinking about Sherlock. It took a lot of immersion in the war but he achieved his own version of closure. Yes, there were those little nagging thoughts in his mind like, _I hope he didn't kill himself with heroin yet_ or _what if we were together and I could go home to him_ or _God, I still love him._ But John didn't feel depressed anymore after a couple of months. By the time his 2nd tour came to an end he was ready to start looking for love again.  
  


* * *

 

When Sherlock woke up in hospital he had no idea how he arrived there. He hated whoever it was that found him though because he was going to be sent to a rehabilitation centre as soon as the doctors were satisfied with his condition. His condition wasn't very good because Sherlock had spent the last year and a half finding the best combination of cocaine and heroin. Just enough to make is mind work and keep himself from being too bored with his surroundings but calm him down and shut out any thoughts of John.

It got out of hand at one point. He stumbled onto a crime scene and contaminated a bit of evidence that was apparently vital to the case. Lestrade kicked him out of the area immediately. He also contacted Mycroft to his brother's habits. The two had met a few times pervious. Sherlock was disgusted to see that they were interested in each other the first meeting. He cursed the connection when Mycroft showed up at his flat and berated him for using drugs. Sherlock promised Mycroft he would clean up, only to get him to leave.

Sherlock figured that if he couldn't be on crime scenes he was going to increase how much heroin he could take. Unfortunately he miscalculated. Greatly. He couldn't deduce whom it was who brought him to the hospital because he couldn't remember anything after filing the needle. He wasn't going to ask either because it was more than likely Mycroft.

Once the worst of the withdrawals concluded Sherlock was sent to rehab. He refused to speak to anyone. He decided that he was going to never speak to Mycroft because he saved him. Sherlock didn't let on that he never wanted to be saved from himself.

After rehab he went back to his flat and resumed working with Lestrade, still ignoring Mycroft even though it was difficult because the two were now shagging. He also picked up more private cases and conducted more experiments. Sherlock only took cocaine when boredom was debilitating.

He never deleted John's letter. Sometimes he'd read it at night. The next day he'd spend trying to think of ways John was a terrible and boring person. He always found none.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft thought better of it to not tell Sherlock that it was John who found him. He knew how much pain John caused him. But he couldn't understand why the army doctor had shown up to his brother's flat after ignoring him.

"Gregory," Mycroft sat down next to the DI in the waiting room of the hospital the day Sherlock had overdosed. "Why would you not respond to a letter declaring someone's love for you when they were replying to your own? Then why after almost 2 years of no correspondence would you show up to the other person's?"

Greg thought, "Are we sure Sherlock declared his love?"

"I know he did. He practically told me one day."

"Practically told you but he didn't."

"He told me was sickeningly in love. Why wouldn't he tell John and why would he be obsessed with receiving a letter back?"

"Maybe John never got the letter?"

Mycroft nodded. He was going to do something about it but it could wait til morning, "Would you like to go out for a drink detective? My brother is in good hands here."

Greg grinned and nodded.

Mycroft did the best he could to track Sherlock's letter but nothing came up. Eventually Mycroft stopped looking and let his brother be because it seemed that he had turned some corner. He wouldn't say Sherlock was happy but he was all right, alive, and working


	14. The Letters Revisted

**January 29 th, 2010.  
  
**John had arrived back in London, for good, at the beginning of December. It wasn’t a happy occasion. One night he was shot by a sniper in his left shoulder, his dominant arm. He probably should have died. Luckily, John’s friends wouldn’t let him. But he was sent to recover in an army hospital. After lots and lots of physical therapy John walked away from the hospital honourably discharged with a tremor in his left hand, mysterious limp with a cane to go along with it, and PTSD, which caused the worst nightmares.  
  
He was living in a bleak little bedsit, alone in a dodgy section of town. Even though he could hear the city of London through the thin walls of his room, this silence was unbearable. He wasn’t sure how long he could take it. Living in action or living with the promise of action drove him for so many years but now he had nothing to look forward to. No one wanted to hire a doctor with a limp and a tremor so he couldn’t even have a career. John was useless. He couldn’t stay in London on his pension either. His sister was too caught up in her own drama. He didn’t have anyone he could love.  
  
In the six years since last seeing Sherlock, John had been engaged to a lovely girl named Mary. She broke up with John before his 5th tour, the one his was shot during. They were together for 3 years but she couldn’t stand seeing John off over and over again. She was afraid he would get shot and she would be alone. John knew that meant she didn’t love him enough. John had compared her to Sherlock on more than one occasion and he hated himself for it. He hated it because he never felt the way about Mary that he had felt for Sherlock all that time ago.  
  
John wasn’t sure he could go on much longer.  
  
He decided to go on a walk to clear his head after visiting his therapist, who was dreadful. He noticed a man who looked oddly familiar but a bit fat for who he was thinking of. “John? John Watson! Mike Stamford.”  
  
“Ah!, yes, Mike.” John and Mike had been mates in medical school. The last time he saw Mike was at the pub before he went to Sandhurst many years ago.  
  
“Yes, I know, I’ve gotten fat.”  
  
Mike and John caught up. Mike had 3 kids, a wife, and was teaching over at St. Barts. John felt like he didn’t have anything compared to Mike. But then again John wasn’t sure he wanted exactly what Mike had. He couldn’t seek out adrenaline rushes with a wife. Not like he could find any at the moment. Where could he find them in the middle of London? It’s not like a warzone.  
  
Somehow the two men got on the subject of John not being able to afford living in London. Mike suggested a flat mate, “Come on, who would want me as a flat mate?”  
  
Mike smiled and gave a bit of a chuckle.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re the second person to say that to me today.”  
  
“Who was the first?”  
  
“This bloke, he’s-you know, he’s probably still at St. Bart’s. Are you free?”  
  
John scoffed, “I’m always free.”  
  
Making his way through his old stomping grounds made John a bit nostalgic so when he entered the lab he didn’t notice who was slouched over the microscope at the table, “Bit different from my day.” John’s eye’s finally met the the man’s curly black hair. He froze.  
  
“John.” Sherlock turned to face him.  
  
He thought he was going to pass out.  
  
“You two know each other?”  
  
“We did, yeah…you’ve-you know each other? Did you-you know you’ve met…” John couldn’t remember how to speak.  
  
“Of course we’ve met.” Mike laughed, a little worried.  
  
“No, no…at the pub before I left for Sandhurst.”  
  
“I must have deleted it.” Sherlock’s voice was barely a whisper.  
  
“I was pissed that night, I believe. It was a long time ago too. Sherlock and I met, again apparently, here…” Mike glanced between the two and realised that no one was listening. “Ah, I’ll be going. Give me a call, John.”  
  
“John-I-”  
  
“You know, it’s been 6 years but it still-” John sucked a breath in.  
  
“6 years? No it-”  
  
“I can’t do this.”  
  
“John, you never got-”  
  
John couldn’t hear Sherlock’s voice anymore. He had spent a lot of time trying to forget the sound of that deep baritone. He turned and marched himself out of the room.  
  
All of John’s work at suppressing the memory of that voice as well as his feelings for Sherlock began to unravel as he walked home. His leg ached as he walked but he walked all the way back to his flat. But he walked because he was trying to collect himself. He came close to walking into traffic a few times.  
  
When he got into the flat he yelled at himself, “You don’t love the fucking bastard anymore. He’s a proper git who broke your heart. Christ, Watson, it’s been so many years.”  
  
John sat on his bed until 2 in the morning trying to figure out a way to forget again while staring at his wall and the only answer he had was go through war. But he didn’t have that option anymore so instead he fell asleep. He slept until noon when there was a knock in his door.  
  
On the other side was an older and plumper Mycroft Holmes, “Fuck, what the fuck?” John looked up at the mouldy ceiling, letting Mycroft in. “Uh, uh, sorry Mycroft. It’s just been a rough-” 8 years, 2 months, and some odd days.  
  
“It’s quite all right, Captain.”  
  
“Don’t call me Captain.” John cringed.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“What is it? Did your brother send you-” John stopped, confused, “Wait, how’d you know where I live? And how’d you know I made Captain?”  
  
“I know a lot. I know you were shot in your left shoulder in Afghanistan, begin heroic none the less. You were engaged to Mary Morstan after a lengthy relationship but she eventually broke it off. Your address obviously, amongst other information. But I also know you never received a response from my brother all those years ago. That’s what brings me here today.”  
  
“How do you know all these things?” John felt very uncomfortable.  
  
“My position gives me access to a lot of information.”  
  
“What position is that?”  
  
“A minor one within the British Government.” Mycroft inspected the dingy flat. “So, the letter you never received.”  
  
“Yes, he never sent one.”  
  
“No, John, he did.” Mycroft reached into his pocket. “You just never received it.”  
  
John’s heart was in his throat as he looked at the envelope in Mycroft’s hands.  
  
“After you saved him, over 6 years ago now, I found myself wondering why you would go see the man you ignored after declaring your love to each other. It didn’t make sense so after talking it through with Gregory it made sense that it was never delivered to you. After a fruitless search I eventually gave up, as it seemed Sherlock was doing better. Granted, he’s fallen back into drugs more often than he’s been clean over the last years but there was nothing I could do-well aside from putting him into rehab once more a year ago and restricting his money but that’s besides the point here.

“When I heard that you were shot I started the search again. My people tracked down the letter. It was stuck at the bottom of the mailbox my brother had dropped it in. It seems you both have been suffering over nothing and there was a large lack of communication after the incident.  
  
“I found the letter a week ago. I told Sherlock and he said that it was pointless to do anything. He told me that he didn’t love you but there was something in his eyes, there was this light that I’ve been missing for so long. There was a little bit of hope. I wanted to tell him that you saved him but I think you should do that.” Mycroft let out a long sigh.  
  
“I was going to let my brother go on in life being miserable but your appearance yesterday made me believe in fate. I can’t let the both of you go on the way you were for years. How can I let you hate each other for no reason? Gregory says you’re soul mates, which is such a preposterous term but…” Mycroft held out the note.  
  
“Please, take this and read it. I’ll be waiting in my car downstairs. I’ll give you some time and if you see fit, I’d like to take you to see my brother and retry that conversation you should have had yesterday.”  
  
John’s hand didn’t shake when he took the letter.  
  
He looked at the scrolling handwriting that used to be so familiar to him and his pulse quickened. He opened the seal then started to read. John didn’t realise he was choking on sobs until the end of it. It was everything he had wanted to hear all those years ago. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted now but he knew that he needed to see Sherlock.  
  
John almost forgot to change and brush his teeth before leaving the flat. He probably should have showered but he didn’t have time for that.  
  
Mycroft’s car was still waiting, “Good, Doctor Watson, I knew you’d come.”  
  
“Yeah, let’s go.”  
  
“He’s at Mummy’s. Part of the reason he gets any of the money is still coming is, is the bi-weekly meals.”  
  
John sat back in his seat, settling for the ride.


	15. The Letters Revisted Part II

**January 30 th, 2010.  
**  
Sherlock sat in his library, attempting to hide from Mummy and her endless questions about work, his drug habits, and if he’s found any new friends. She and Mycroft had only grown more insufferable after his last stay in rehab. He thought he had escaped her until dinner but then the door opened.  
  
It wasn’t Mummy or anyone who worked in the house. No, the footsteps belonged to someone with a limp. Someone who was carrying a cane. Someone who smelt like John Watson.  
  
Sherlock turned in his chair to see a visibly shaken John standing in the threshold, holding something tight in his hands, “May I come in?”  
  
“Yes, ah, yes.” Sherlock gestured to the empty chair across from the small table he was sitting at. “I take it Mycroft told you about the letter.”  
  
John just nodded, standing across from Sherlock, not sitting.  
  
Over the last 7 years Sherlock became an expert at not feeling. Since his first stint in rehab he cut himself off from everyone and everything that could give him feelings. Sherlock stopped sleeping around. He put a block on anything to do with John. He didn’t even see his own family. Sentiment only got in the way. Sherlock was buried with cases and experiments. He dealt with boredom with cocaine occasionally and sometimes it got a bit out of hand.  
  
When Mycroft told him that the letter he had sent years ago never got to John he felt something. Something strong in his gut. He wasn’t sure what it was but he knew that he had to stop it. But he couldn’t stop it with drugs because no one would sell to him. All his normal dealers disappeared, clearly his brother’s doings. He tried to push it aside, the best he could because he had work to do because there were serial suicides that had a hint of murder to them springing up everywhere.  
  
Then John walked into the lab and Sherlock’s heart nearly fell out of his body and on to the floor. At least that’s what it felt like to him. He didn’t know how to stop John from walking away so he let it happen. He was sure that he’d never see him again. But now he was standing in front of Sherlock with what had to be the letter in his hand.  
  
Sherlock went into his mind palace and found both his letter and John’s, read them both in a blink then turned his full attention towards John.  
  
“I’m not sure where we should start. I mean, it’s been 8 years since I wrote you…we’ve both clearly changed and evolved in that time.” John rested his cane on this side of the chair but stayed standing. All of a sudden Sherlock’s head was swimming with deductions.  
  
“You were shot? But not in the leg, your limp is psychosomatic because when you-”  
  
John put his hand up and sat down finally, “Sherlock, don’t do that now. I can see your brain working out what’s happened to me.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“If I tell you, will you move on so we can actually talk about the letter and these last 12 sodding years?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Yes, my limp is psychosomatic. I was shot by a sniper in my left shoulder during my 5th tour,” Sherlock suddenly wanted to see the scar. “I came back to London last month. I can barely afford my bedsit on my pension so that’s why Mike told me some bloke he knew needed a flat mate. I didn’t think anyone would want me as a flat mate and I had no idea that it would be you.”  
  
“Why is that?”  
  
“I have PTSD, a limp, and can’t find a sodding job because the tremor in my hand. Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”  
  
“How-”  
  
“We have to stop this. We have to talk about the letter and I’m sure that whole thing was just a way to avoid talking about feelings for a few minutes.”  
  
Sherlock frowned because John was right, “I don’t know what I should be saying.”  
  
“Ha, I don’t either. This is probably pretty unprecedented.” John sighed, “Do you still feel this way?” He held up the letter.  
  
“I felt that way for you back then. I’m a different person, as are you. We both have had different experiences so I don’t know if I still love you, if it’s even possible. I hated you for a long time but I got over it. I’m not interested in relationships of any sort one bit. But I am somewhat relieved that you were not ignoring my letter.”  
  
“You’re so rational.” He gripped the arm of the chair.  
  
“What about you, John?”  
  
“I spent so long hating the pair of us. I hated myself for ruining our friendship because it was such a wonderful thing. I hated you for never giving me any type of closure. Christ, I went to get it 6 years ago when I my dad died-”  
  
“Your father died and you came to see me to get closure…”  
  
“Yes, ah, I was the one who found you when you overdosed.”  
  
Sherlock’s face flushed. Finding out that John was the one who saved him was embarrassing. He knew how much John objected to drugs, all those times John lectured him and worried about what he was doing. Not to mention that it was Sherlock’s lowest point in his life.  
  
“It hurt but it helped me get over you because I couldn’t deal with another addict.”  
  
“I’m clean. I’ve been clean for a year now. I believe I’ve got myself together properly and my skills are very much in demand so as they say, business is booming.” Sherlock felt like he was pleading. But there wasn’t anything on the table for him to plead for.  
  
“Business?”  
  
“I’m a consulting detective.” He said proudly.  
  
“Consulting detective?” John repeated slowly, as if he didn’t understand.  
  
“The only one in the world, I invented the job.”  
  
“So, you what?”  
  
“I work with Scotland Yard, mostly Lestrade. You actually met him.”  
  
“Oh.” John thought, “Oh, oh the crime scene you walked on.”  
  
Sherlock nodded. “I take private cases as well.”  
  
“I’m glad you’re finally settled.”  
  
“You will be _settled_ again as well.” Sherlock offered. He could tell that John felt useless.  
  
“I can’t stop thinking about what my life would be like now if I got this letter before. Would we have been together and happy up until this point?”  
  
“I don’t think we’d be together anymore, no.” Sherlock said bluntly.  
  
“Really?” John frowned a bit.  
  
“I would have hated seeing you go away all the time. I would have been selfish because I am. We would have broke up. I would have hurt you somehow. I would have pushed you away. You would have hated me.”  
  
“I had a fiancée, you know.”  
  
“I could tell.”  
  
“Right, of course you could. She broke up with me because she was selfish. I was happy in the end because I didn’t love her like I should have.”  
  
“You loved me then like you should have loved her?” Sherlock questioned even though he already knew. “You still didn’t love me when you met her but you still compared your love.”  
  
“Yes.” John’s voice hitched.  
  
“That’s…” He didn’t know what to say.  
  
“I was so in love with you, Sherlock.”  
  
“I loved you too, John.”  
  
“But I don’t love you anymore. I loved you so much, for too long but I moved on.”  
  
“You don’t know me, I don’t know you. It makes sense.”  
  
“What are we going to do?” John sat on his hands.  
  
“I…I don’t know. What do you want?”  
  
“I’d like to be friends with you, start over. I know you don’t want a relationship and that’s fine. We don’t really even know each other anymore.”  
  
Sherlock thought, “Would you like to be my flat mate?”  
  
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”  
  
“You already know all my terrible habits and I know yours so I don’t see the problem.”  
  
“Why do you even need a flat mate?” John looked around at the library.  
  
“Mummy and Mycroft only give me a small allowance due to my former…habits. I can’t afford the flat I’m supposed to be moving into alone.”  
  
“Oh.” John nodded.  
  
“You think that it’s a terrible idea.”  
  
“It’s hard not to, after all we went through. And we both had some pretty intense feelings.” He explained.  
  
“You could at least look at the apartment. Figuring how much your army pension is, you should be able to afford it and still have money left over. There are 2 bedrooms and one is upstairs, you can have that one if you’d like.”  
  
John chewed on his bottom lip, “I’ll take a look but I can’t promise you anything.”  
  
“Good, we’ll meet there tomorrow.”  
  
“Where is there?” John took out a small notepad.  
  
“221B Baker Street. It’s a lovely location.”  
  
“Ok.”  
  
Sherlock watched John jot down the information with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. “Harry’s still an alcoholic? Broke up with her partner recently?” Sherlock picked up the phone John had set on the table when he retrieved the Moleskine from his pocket.  
  
“She’s worse than ever. Clara was great, Harry didn’t deserve her.”  
  
Sherlock sighed, “Mummy will want to see you if she hasn’t.”  
  
“She hasn’t.”  
  
“You’ll stay for dinner then?”  
  
“I wouldn’t see why not. I’m sure Mycroft won’t let me get away until we eat.”  
  
“He’s fat now.” Sherlock grinned.  
  
“You’re skinnier than ever. Do you eat?”  
  
He grumbled, “Not even back in my life for an hour and you’re making comments about my health.”  
  
“I have a hard time not doing so. You were one of the most unhealthy people that I’ve ever known.”  
  
“I can see you haven’t changed in that way at all.”  
  
“This is so strange.” John ran his hand over his face. “How am I sitting here talking to you? After everything, we’re here being bloody civil. This is too strange.”  
  
“Would you like to leave?” Sherlock felt nervous.  
  
“No, it’s ok. I’m just in shock, I think.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“For what? You have nothing to apologise for, Sherlock.”  
  
“I’m sorry for you finding me like you did when I overdosed.”  
  
John gave Sherlock a soft smile, “Are you still calling yourself a sociopath?”  
  
“I am one, John.” Sherlock huffed.  
  
“We wouldn’t be having a conversation if you were.”  
  
Sherlock and John stayed in the library for 2 more hours talking about the last 8 years, as well as the 4 before it. Sherlock probed about the war but John didn’t seem to keen on talking about it. Sherlock told John everything he could about his career. John also asked about his year plus of travelling that got them in to the mess. Sherlock pressed about Mary and they got more in depth about why John didn’t love her as much as he loved the old Sherlock. He also tried to get him to explain why he used to love Sherlock.  
  
“I don’t know, Sherlock, I just did. You were there at that time in my life…I don’t know. I guess all the letters and we used to be affectionate towards each other…”  
  
Sherlock nodded. This meant that it would be easy for John to fall back in love with him.  
  
They had dinner with Mummy and Mycroft, who were a bit surprised that they didn’t walk out of the library holding hands and stealing kisses. But they were excited to see John in general. Sherlock knew they always liked John and deep down they never truly believed John would break his heart.  
  
Afterwards Mycroft drove John back home while Sherlock took his brother’s other car back to his flat. Sherlock spent the night dreaming of John. Sherlock never dreams so this was a first. He woke up the next morning, realising that he loved John still. He was worried because he could only hurt the other man. Now that he had John back in his life, at least somewhat, he didn’t want to lose him again. He had to do everything possible to keep him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it may be a while for the next update to come. I've been having computer issues...damn charger is pretty much dead and I can only get a connection to last for a few minutes at a time and now I have to wait for a new one to arrive in the mail. I haven't been able to write much because of it. I'll also be going out of town soon so I apologise ahead of time for delays.


	16. I never stopped

**January 31 st, 2010.**  
  
John had spent the night before nightmare free. This was new since leaving Afghanistan. Over the last couple of months his nightmares were filled with blood, bullets, and screams. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t have nightmares but he was happy about it.  
  
It was a good thing that he had a nice rest the night before because the new day bought a whirlwind. God, did he love it?  
  
Once he met Sherlock at 221B, which John felt amazingly at home in, things started to get a bit crazy. Sherlock’s DI, who also happened to be Mycroft’s Gregory, invited the consulting detective to a crime scene. It was another of those serial suicides John had been reading about. Sherlock almost left John at the flat in his excitement but he ended up asking John to come along, saying he could use his medical knowledge at the scene. The vague promise of danger and violence pumped something through John’s body, which he hadn’t felt since Afghanistan.  
  
When they arrived at the scene John was shocked to see how rude Sherlock was to Lestrade’s team, one of which told John to stay away from Sherlock because he was a dangerous psychopath. John told her he was supposedly a sociopath but that was clearly wrong. But he was even more shocked at how Sherlock worked. He was simply amazing and John let him know, a couple of times. Sherlock left John behind at the scene, off to apparently find some clue. On his walk back to his flat Mycroft’s black car pulled up, offering John a ride home. “You are going to live with my brother, John.”  
  
“Sherlock’s right, you have grown to be a bit more overbearing. Ah, well he used more unkind words than that.”  
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes, “You need to stop seeing your therapist as well.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
“Your left hand.”  
  
“What?”  
  
 **“** Most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?“  
  
“What's wrong with my hand, though?” John asked as his phone buzzed.  
  
 _Baker Street. Come at once if _convenient__. _  
-SH_  
  
 **“** You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks it's posttraumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service—“  
  
“I can’t believe you know about my therapist and what we talk about.” John needed to tell Ella that his trust issues might have something to do with the Holmes’.  
  
 _If inconvenient come anyway.  
-SH_  
  
 **“** Fire her. She's got it the wrong way around. You’ve been examining a dead body, I’m sure, and your hand isn’t shaking at all. You have a promise of thrill in this case you’re helping Sherlock with. You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson. You miss it. Welcome back, in every sense of the phrase.” He smiled.  
  
John should have been unsettled over the talk with his former best mate’s-current possible flat mate’s-big brother but he was almost sure Mycroft was right. All John had wanted since being holed up in that hospital was to be back in a warzone. Sherlock could apparently give him the one thing he had been missing.  
  
 _Could be dangerous_.  
-SH  
  
“Can you take me to my flat? I need to pick something up, then you can take me to Baker Street.”  
  
Mycroft’s smile grew wider. John went back to his flat to retrieve his gun.  
  
John was rather annoyed when he got back to Baker Street and all Sherlock wanted him to do was send a text. Then he was presented with the pink case that had been missing from the earlier crime scene. Sherlock worked out where it was dumped and that the lady was missing her phone. John was even more annoyed when he found out that he had texted a murderer. Sherlock offered to take John out to eat but it was nothing more than a stake out…Even though the owner of the restaurant, Angelo, insisted that it was a date.  
  
After chasing a cab through London, because they thought it contained the suspect, the men ended up back at Baker Street. He hadn’t felt that alive in a very long time even though he practically ran a marathon. John knew he was going to have to move into 221B because Angelo appeared with John’s cane he had left behind. He didn’t have the slightest bit of a limp. Mycroft was right, John missed the battlefield and Sherlock was giving it to him.  
  
When he got upstairs to his new flat he found a drugs bust going on and Lestrade was leading it. It was obviously a ploy to search the scene for the evidence Sherlock had never turned over to the detective. Eventually it was worked out that the phone was enabled in GPS and Sherlock easily cracked the password to track it. The phone was apparently at Baker Street.  
  
Then Sherlock was gone. The phone was as well. Then the phone was moving. John followed it. He raced around trying to find Sherlock and the man who had apparently abducted him, the serial murderer. He found them both right in time but he was in another building, watching the scene from behind 2 windows. He had a clean shot. Sherlock was about to take some pill so John took the shot then disappeared.  
  
John let himself blend into the crowd as Sherlock was looked after and questioned about what had happened. John had no problems with what he had done. He shot and killed a man who had killed 4 people, almost 5. If Sherlock died he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself. He knew he did the right thing. When Sherlock broke away from Lestrade he went right over to John.  
  
They went out to eat at a Chinese restaurant that was to die for then spent the rest of the early morning talking over tea about nothing in particular.  
  
The next afternoon John moved into 221B Baker Street. Taking a break from moving most of his things up to his room, John had some sudden deep thoughts while making tea. He felt so much at home even though he had only been at Baker Street for a few hours. It wasn’t the place that was making him feel this way, no, it was the other man.  
  
John abandoned the steeping tea. He needed to be close to Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock was in the living room looking at something of John’s. It was an old oak box passed down from his gran. Inside the box were John’s medals he had earned in service and a couple other mementos.  
  
“You were brave.”  
  
“I was stupid.” John sat on the floor beside his friend. “You had me pegged as an adrenalin junkie when we first met, you were right.”  
  
“No, you’ve always been brave and adventurous. You still are.”  
  
“I’ve never been anywhere.”  
  
“Sure you have, you just haven’t done any of it on a holiday. Except for France.” Sherlock smiled crookedly. “You’re so interesting, John. You saved my life last night, even though I was right about which pill to take. You blend into crowds but beneath it all you’re-you’re amazing.” His index finger traced around the Victoria Cross. “How’d you earn it?”  
  
John’s face flushed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
The detective studied John’s face, “Ok.”  Sherlock grabbed John’s dog tags and put them around his own neck after studying them for a few seconds. Then he picked up a small stack of photos. The last one in the pile was of John and Sherlock, the only picture of the two of them from all those years ago.  
  
“We look so much younger, here.”  
  
“Mmm, I miss not having grey at my temples.”  
  
Sherlock looked at the picture with a bit of longing, “It’s so foolish but I miss feeling this way.”  
  
“What way?”  
  
“As I said it’s foolish but I’ll tell you anyway. When you had your arm around me, it felt like everything was all right. I…I was so happy. There was lightness in my stomach. My heart pounded but in a good way, oddly enough. I never wanted you to leave my side. I was always sad when you had to.” He sounded embarrassed.  
  
John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder. “Do you still feel that way?”  
  
Sherlock just nodded.  
  
“I never stopped loving you either.” John’s voice sounded a bit broken. “God I need you, I need you. I’ve always needed you.” He buried his face in Sherlock’s neck. “Christ, you were back in my life for a day and my limp was gone and my tremor disappeared. I’m happy and content. The other day I thought I was going to kill myself but then Mycroft gave me your letter and now I’m sitting here with you in the middle of _our_ bloody flat. I thought we were going to have to take this slow but fuck it, Sherlock. I still love you. Sure we had things happen to us but deep down we’re still who we were back then.” John took the picture from Sherlock’s hand and put it back in the box. “We’re the same people and we’re meant to be together.”  
  
“You’ve given me so much in this last day and you promised to give me it over and over. You’re giving me a battlefield, one I’ve been fucking missing. You’re giving me hope. You’re giving me a home, a real one and not that sodding bedsit. You’re giving me everything I missed for 8 years as well.”  
  
John stopped talking because he realised he had been rambling for a bit. “Can you please say something?” He moved away to look at his flat mate.  
  
Sherlock had a ghost of a smile on his lips, “I never expected a declaration of love to be riddled with so many curses. But then again I really shouldn’t have expected anything else from you.”  
  
“Oh, Christ.” John launched forward and their mouths met for a kiss that was about 12 years in the making. It was passion, longing, urgency, want, need, and love. John gave everything thing he had and Sherlock returned it.  
  
The kiss seemed to last forever but it wasn’t long enough for the pair of men. John didn’t want to pull back to even breathe but he figured that he should so he could just go back to do snogging more without dying.  
  
His body grew warm as Sherlock continued touching him softly. John used to dream about Sherlock’s touching and Sherlock’s body and Sherlock’s kisses for years, this was much better. He couldn’t believe that it was all actually happening. He was sure that he was dreaming.  
  
After a solid 15 minutes of snogging on the floor, “I think we need to go to my room.” Sherlock’s hand ran up John’s thigh.  
  
“You better have condoms and lube in there or I will run to the nearest store.” John pushed himself off the floor.  
  
“That’s why I suggested my room and not yours. I’d rather Mrs. Hudson not hear us though so yours might be better.” Sherlock stood up and his hands went to John’s waist, tugging the him close like he was afraid he’d disappear.  
  
“Go get the supplies and I’ll go wait upstairs.”  
  
“Don’t undress, I get to do that.”  
  
John felt suddenly self-conscious, “I can’t believe we’re having sex in the afternoon.”  
  
Sherlock kissed him passionately again, “Why not?”  
  
“It’s very-unBritish of us. I don’t think normal people have sex in the middle of the day.”  
  
“Being very British and very normal is very boring, John.” Sherlock nibbled on the shorter man’s bottom lip. “Now, go on and I’ll be up there in 30 seconds-do not shut the shades.”  
  
John listened, blushing all the while. When he sat on his new bed he wasn’t sure if it was actually real. He couldn’t spend too much time thinking because Sherlock was in the doorway holding a condom and a bottle of lube in less than a minute, “You’re going to have to kiss me again just so I can make sure this is all not apart of a dream.”  
  
Sherlock moved to the bed without a word, dropping what he had in his hands on the bed before straddling John, “I was thinking the same thing.” He cupped John’s cheeks and kissed him tenderly, not like the mashing of mouths that he happened in the living room. “I want this to last all day.” He almost sounded shy about it.  
  
John’s hands moved down Sherlock’s long back slowly to rest on his perfect arse, “I’m fine with that.”  
  
“As much as I want to sit here and file away every single part of your body I rather need you to be inside of me as soon as possible.”  
  
John groaned into another kiss.  
  
“I’ve wanted that for twelve years and I haven’t had sex in over 6. I need you so bad, John.”  
  
“You haven’t had sex in 6 years?”  
  
“I didn’t want to risk emotional involvement and I also collected more than enough data, it was getting a bit repetitive.”  
  
“I feel like I have a lot of responsibility to make this good.” John sucked on Sherlock’s neck.  
  
“Mmm, we’re going to do it just like this.” Sherlock sighed as John started to unbutton his shirt. “Well, you will move close to the head board but I enjoy this position. I also want to be looking at you when you’re inside of me for the first time.”  
  
He pushed the shirt off. “Fuck, can you talk the entire time?”  
  
“If you wish.”  
  
John caught his dog tags in his fingers, “Take these off.”  
  
“No, I quite fancy them.” Sherlock grinned.  
  
“They could hit one of us in the face if-”  
  
Sherlock pushed the tags over his shoulder, is that better?”  
  
“Yes, thank you.” John discarded of his jumper, a little hesitantly.  
  
Sherlock’s smile disappeared when his eyes fell on to John’s knotted scar. His finger’s danced over the flesh.  
  
“Stop.” John bit his lip.  
  
“Does it hurt?”  
  
“Not now but-please don’t.”  
  
“John, it’s perfect, like the rest of you. There’s no need to be embarrassed by it.” Sherlock leaned close to John’s ear. “Not to mention, it sent you back to me.” He licked John’s earlobe then tugged at it with his teeth. “Not that I’m happy you were hurt.”  
  
“I understand.” John traced a line down Sherlock’s spine.  
  
“Do you understand how much I need you?” He ground down into John’s hardening cock.  
  
“Ohhh, yes, I do.” John worked his hand into Sherlock’s trousers, finding that Sherlock had gone commando. “I might need you more.”  
  
Whatever Sherlock was going to say to John was caught in a throaty moan as John wrapped his fingers around him. John leaned forward to kiss at the other man’s pale chest, working his way up to his neck where he sucked and bit a spot until it bruised. “Your skin is so pale, you bruise so easily. Barely had to work for that.” John laved his tongue over the area.  
  
“Mmm, everyone’s going to see that.”  
  
“Good.” John smirked.  
  
“But it won’t last too long, that’s what the dog tags are for.”  
  
“I think I like that a bit too much.” John gripped the dog tags.  
  
Sherlock moved off of John, who gave a small whimper over the loss of body contact, “Move up against the head board.” He shucked off his trousers as John listened to the direction.  
  
Then Sherlock crawled up to John and pressed his lips to his forehead then the tip of his nose before landing on his lips. Sherlock trailed a line from John’s lips down to his chin, over his throat, neck, chest, and soon he was at his belly button. He slowly undid John’s button and zipper before pulling off his jeans and pants at once.  
  
Sherlock nosed at the base of John’s cock, “Just how I remember.”  
  
 “The smell?” John’s cheeks flushed.  
  
“Yes.” He licked the length of the shaft then sucked on the head. “Hmm, and the taste as well as feel.”  
  
“Jesus, Sherlock.” John wished he could be like Sherlock, able to store every moment they shared together in a computer brain. Then he remembered how much it possibly hurt Sherlock for those years to have those memories stored, it’s no wonder why he was taking drugs.  
  
“What’s wrong? You look sad.”  
  
“I’m fine Sherlock, go on.”  
  
Sherlock moved back up to straddle John’s hips, “What is it? Did I do something wrong?”  
  
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve ruined the mood before with talking.” John put a smile back on his face.  
  
“But we regained it, it ended up being a very wonderful night.” Sherlock nuzzled John’s neck.  
  
“I don’t want to risk that right now.” John slid his hand down his mate’s back to rest on the globes of his arse, “I’m afraid I’ll blink and this will stop.”  
  
“It won’t.” Sherlock let out a soft moan as John let an index finger drift down his cleft. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to prepare myself. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just been a long time…”  
  
“No, it’s ok.” John licked his lips.  
  
He reached for the lube, “I apologise for the lack of foreplay I-”  
  
John cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck to bring him closer for a kiss, “It’s fine…it’s all fine.”  
  
Sherlock slicked his fingers and moved his hand behind him. One of John’s hands moved up to his partner’s curly dark hair so it would be out of the way. He always wanted to twist his fingers through his hair like he always wanted. The other hand stayed in place, close enough to feel Sherlock’s movements. Sherlock exhaled a long breath before pressing a finger into himself. John groaned, imaging what it looked like.  
  
“Christ, you’re so gorgeous.” John bought Sherlock in for more snogging. He would have been happy if all they did was snog because it was so comfortable, like they used to do it all the time.  
  
He was kidding himself if he thought he was ok with just kissing though because he wanted to be buried deep inside Sherlock, just like he fantasied about. John had to have patience because Sherlock needed to be ready.  
  
After what felt like hours of Sherlock moaning and moving intently as John busied his mouth with Sherlock’s mouth or skin or nipples, Sherlock finally looked down at John and said, “I’m ready.” He handed John the condom and he made fast work of it before generously applying lube.  
  
Sherlock shifted a little, taking John in his hand, “All right?”  
  
John just nodded. In a blink he felt himself pressing against Sherlock and his breath hitched. Slowly John was engulfed by Sherlock, “Oh…oh…Sherlock, this, this is-this is-I-”  
  
Sherlock swallowed John’s words in a kiss, as if to say he understood.  
  
Soon Sherlock was sitting on John’s thighs, his head down, breathing hard. John put his finger under Sherlock’s chin to lift his head so he could look in his beautiful blue eyes, “Are you ok?”  
  
“Fine,” Sherlock’s voice was shaky. “It’s just a lot, feeling you like this. It’s a bit overwhelming. My brain is going in a million directions.”  
  
“Ok, take your time.” John pasted kisses to the other man’s chest so pass the time as he waited for Sherlock to collect himself, all the while feeling the other man’s.  
  
It didn’t take too long. Soon enough Sherlock started moving, raising all the way up then falling all the way back down to John’s thighs. He built up a nice rhythm. John wasn’t going to last long. He hadn’t had sex in far too many months but he took solace in the fact that Sherlock probably wasn’t going to be expecting it to go on forever. He knew at the angle Sherlock was positioned, he was hitting his prostate with each downward motion. It was confirmed when Sherlock was practically screaming and babbling in French. John had no idea what Sherlock was saying but it was amazingly hot.  
  
“Glad, fuck, you listened to me about the talking.” John’s fingers were digging into Sherlock’s thighs as Sherlock’s thrusts were losing their rhythm.  
  
“Mmm, oui, oui.”  
  
“You better say John though.”  
  
“Oui, John.” A smug smile found it way to Sherlock’s mouth but it didn’t last long. When John wrapped his hand around Sherlock lost it after 2 pumps of his fist, “John. John. John. John. John. J’ai-” He came on John’s stomach, throwing his head back with moan.  
  
But John missed the whole thing because as Sherlock started to tighten around him John’s orgasm tore through his body.  
  
When John came back down to earth Sherlock’s face was pressed into his left shoulder, his body was shaking. John realised that the wetness on his shoulder wasn’t sweat. It was tears.  
  
“Sherlock? What’s wrong?” He panicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the charger came faster than I expected! Yay, I'm almost done the next chapter, which is the final one and then there's going to be an epilogue. I might add a bonus chapter one day of letters from 221B over the years but my brain has been taking over with a different idea and I probably wouldn't be able to write those without forcing it.


	17. Never

_“Sherlock? What’s wrong?”_  
  
Sherlock took a shaky breath, moving so he could be sitting on the bed and not on John. Instead of a post-coital haze he was hit with the reality of the current situation he found himself in, “You should go.” He collected himself enough to speak.  
  
“What?” John’s expressive face was twisted with worry.  
  
“I can’t do this.” Sherlock put his head in his hands.  
  
“Sherlock-I-why? You have to tell me what’s wrong. I’m not going anywhere” John scrambled next to him, tossing the condom in the bin next to the bed in same movement.  
  
“I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to drag you down. I’m going to consume you. I’m going to make you angry. You’re going to hate me. I’m going to be a mess. I have terrible mood swings. I don’t talk for days. I’m going to make a mess of everything-this flat, you. I’m pompous. I’m arrogant. I’m egotistical. I’m mean. I only care about myself. I’m not equipped for this. When I wrote that letter, it was easy, you were far away but now you’ll always be here. You’re going to hate me.”  
  
“You a daft git.” John laughed.  
  
Sherlock flinched.  
  
“I know you better than anyone. I know it’s been years since we’ve seen each other but we haven’t stopped talking about the last 12 years of our lives since the other day. But I know you’ve had your problems and I know that you’re not the kindest person. I can take it. I know you, Sherlock. No matter what you say, I know you.” John’s last sentence was barely a whisper. “Tell me that you never loved me and I’m not the only person you’ve ever been truly open and honest with.”  
  
“I won’t be able to take it if you leave.” He finally looked up at John.  
  
“I won’t be able to get on myself if I ever leave. I’ve been walking around in this fog for 8 years without having any contact with you. You make me alive. You’re an idiot if you think I want to go another day with out you.”  
  
“I need nicotine.” Sherlock reached down into his trousers.  
  
John laughed again as Sherlock slid a cigarette between his lips, “This isn’t over.”  
  
“I know you’re not lying about what you’ve said.” He lit his cigarette.  
  
“Then what’s wrong with it?”  
  
“I am different John, I’m horrible.”  
  
John let out a sharp sound, “Maybe you were horrible because I wasn’t around.”  
  
Sherlock sighed, grabbing his sock to clean up John’s stomach.  
  
“You haven’t felt anything in years. You’ve blocked your self off from everyone. I think you need me as much as I need you.”  
  
“Bit of a ego you have.”  
  
John plucked the cigarette right out of Sherlock’s lips to take a drag of his own. “But I’m right.”  
  
Sherlock just nodded, “You haven’t smoked since-”  
  
“I asked you for a shag and you turned me down.”  
  
“You were far too emotional to make a choice like that.”  
  
John took another drag then handed the cigarette back to Sherlock, “Probably right, but maybe we needed it. Everything could have been taken care of then, could have saved some heart ache.”  
  
He hummed in agreement, “Now that we have my minor-melt down-taken care of, why were you sad earlier?”  
  
“I was just thinking, you must have had a terrible time of it when you thought that I didn’t love you back anymore because you remember everything so vividly.”  
  
“It’s my own fault, I could have  deleted you but for some reason I kept every bloody memory.”  
  
“If you deleted me, would you have forgotten me?” John looked a bit nervous.  
  
“John Watson, I don’t think I could ever forget you, no matter how hard I try.” He reached around for John’s dog tags.  
  
“You’re not just saying that?”  
  
“Of course not…I was going to delete you but every time I tried my normal way of doing so wouldn’t work. I eventually started using a new storing device-my mind palace-”  
  
“Palace…of course you have a sodding mind palace.” John rolled his eyes, lying back down.  
  
Sherlock stayed sitting but he turned so he could see John, “Oh, shut up.”  
  
“So, in your mind palace, where do you keep me?”  
  
Sherlock chewed on his lip, “I keep you in the green house.”  
  
“Why? Because New Year? My letter?” John grinned.  
  
“Yes, yes, and it was always my favourite place to go think as a child.”  
  
“I thought you’d keep my memories in a terrible place.”  
  
“That’s the thing.” Sherlock sighed. “I kept you in the greenhouse because I didn’t always have to go in there but when I did I really had to think. I always found answers there.”  
  
“See, you need me.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
He leaned down and kissed John lovingly, “You keep your old letters.”  
  
“Yes, that wasn’t a question but I do. I saved everything you sent me. I never got rid of them…even the emails are still in my old account.”  
  
“I kept everything as well.”  
  
“Where? Other than your mind palace I mean.” He waved his hand.  
  
“In my sock drawer. I was never able to find a suitable place.”  
  
John laughed, “That’s where I keep your letters as well.”  
  
“You did not.” Sherlock accused, putting his cigarette in an empty cup.  
  
“I did. I’d show you but they’re packed up now.”  
  
It was quiet for a few minutes as Sherlock settled down next to John, “You know Mycroft will be so smug about this.”  
  
“Smugness is a Holmes trait.”  
  
“He’s been trying to get me to declare my love since he walked in on that time you were on top of me on his couch.”  
  
“Right, he told me I should tell you that I loved you that night. He said that he thought you didn’t deserve love.”  
  
“I’m sure he thinks it’s from my apparent deep seeded ‘daddy issues’.” Sherlock huffed.  
  
“He didn’t say that but it makes sense. You said before that you felt like your father didn’t love you. And as much as I like your mum and Mycroft they’re not the most affectionate lot.”  
  
“Psychology is a soft and utterly ridiculous science, Doctor. It doesn’t even deserved to be called a science.”  
  
“I know but you do deserved to be loved, a lot, and by me.” John rubbed Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes, I’ve been sure of it for 11 years.”  
  
“Not 12?”  
  
“No.” John smirked.  
  
After a few minutes of snogging, “What have I done to deserve you though, John Watson? You’re practically perfect.”  
  
“I’m not sure Sherlock, but we do deserve each other.”  
  
“You’ve done so much for me.” Sherlock traced shapes on John’s side. “You probably saved me the night we met-not from that bloke beating me up but myself…much like you did when you found me overdosed. Then you inspired me to travel the world. That journey was very intriguing and I learned so much. You kept me in Uni and I earned a degree. You inspired me to be what I am today, a consulting detective. If I believed in god and angels, I’d say that you were mine.”  
  
“A god or an angel?” John joked.  
  
“Stop being cheeky. Love makes people say the most outrageous things.” He held John’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “It’s wretched.”  
  
“You go from telling me I made you the man you are today to saying that love is disgusting.” He laughed, burying his face in Sherlock’s chest.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“I still don’t understand love, John.”  
  
“That’s fine, you don’t have to because I can help you understand it.”  
  
“You’ve tried to explain it before.” Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh.  
  
“This time I won’t explain it, this time I’ll show you.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“Don’t worry, you hurt me bad before and you didn’t do anything but I’ll never feel pain like I felt when I thought you didn’t love me back.”  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes, “Are you sure?”  
  
“How much did you hurt when I didn’t answer you?”  
  
“I…I was for lack of a better term, broken.”  
  
“Shattered? Smashed? Torn apart? In agony? Did you rather die then go on?”  
  
“Yes, to everything.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
Sherlock hugged John to his body, “I’ll never leave you, John.”  
  
“I won’t leave either. Never.”  
  
Sherlock sighed and relaxed against John.  
  
He felt John smile against his shoulder.  
  



	18. Epilouge

**July 15 th, 2012.  
**  
“That ceremony was terrible.” Sherlock stuffed his luggage in the overhead.  
  
“Oh, you’re so romantic and sweet. I love how my new husband knows exactly what to say.” John followed Sherlock’s actions.  
  
“You know what I mean.” Sherlock waved a hand in front of his face as John sat across from him.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” John carefully laid his suit jacket down on the seat table. “Why couldn’t we change before catching the train to Paris? And why are we catching it so bloody fast after our wedding?”  
  
 "You wanted to risk Mummy trying to get us to stay? I was afraid her and Harry were going to spring a surprise reception on us. Plus I booked these tickets 2 weeks ago, I told you so it’s no surprise. You also enjoy seeing me in this suit so I figured you would like to stare at me in it for the entire trip.” His foot drifted up John’s leg.  
  
“You’re a bad man.” John opened his legs a little wider.  
  
“Mmm…so what are we going to be doing for our honeymoon?” Sherlock may have purchased the tickets but it was John who did the planning.  
  
“The typical things, expensive dinners, romantic strolls, lots of wine, and an astronomical amount of shagging all over the Holmes’ family Parisian estate.”  
  
“Would you be opposed to finding a case?” Sherlock tested the waters.  
  
“Only if it’s a 10 Sherlock, and you can’t go looking for it. I’m not going to say yes just because your foot’s on my cock right now.”  
  
“Fine.” He could tell John was a little annoyed at the idea so he let it go. “We’re not doing any tourist things.”  
  
“Yes we are.”  
  
“We did them 14 years ago.”  
  
“There are things we missed and I’m sure there are new things. Also, you never took me to the top of the Eiffel Tower.”  
  
“You said the line was too long and you didn’t feel like spending your money.” Sherlock looked out the window as the train started to move.  
  
“Well, we’re doing it now. I promise it to be one of the only tourist things we do.”  
  
“Can I snog you senseless at the top?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Good, we can make some family of tourist very uncomfortable.” Sherlock smirked.  
  
“I know you love doing that.” He was clearly remembering the incident at the Tower of London.  
  
They were both quiet for some time. John moved over to cuddle up to Sherlock after the conductor came by, “Here, John.” Sherlock handed his husband a letter. “I made sure to hand deliver this one.”  
  
“Oh, funny.” John sighed. “I didn’t write you one.”  
  
“That’s perfectly fine.” Sherlock watched as John carefully opened the letter.

  
  
  
“You didn’t sign it SH.” John nuzzled Sherlock’s neck.  
  
“I sign the important ones with my full given name.”  
  
The two sit in a comfortable silence and eventually fall asleep leaning against each other to the steady rhythm of the train the rest of the way to Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I'm so happy you've enjoyed it!


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